


Five Years

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 32,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been five years since Richard was transferred back to London. A lot can change in five years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lucky Richard!

_London, present time_

“But, sir, I’d really rather not go.”

“Nonsense, be good for you, get a little sun. You haven’t used all of your leave time. This will be a nice break. I know it’s a long flight, but you’ve done it before. Just get yourself a nice thick book.”

“Couldn’t someone else—”

“No. It has to be you. Things work a bit differently down there, and you know the lay of the land.” Superintendent Gordon shook his head, “I do not understand you, Poole. The other detectives would love to have this assignment. Why don’t you want to go? It would be nice for you to see old friends.”

“For starters, it’s hot and buggy and there’s sand everywhere.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, it’s only for a few days.”

“That’s what I was told the last time, and I was there for two years.”

“We won’t leave you there this time. As I understand it, there was a vacancy for Chief last time. This time they’ve got a Chief in place. Abbott, I believe is the name.”

“I don’t remember any Abbott.”

“I don’t know who he is, but as long as he’s there, you won’t be given the job. Just hope he doesn’t get himself killed, eh? You leave in two days, so get yourself organized.”

“Yes, sir.”

-o-o-o-o-

So, five years after he left Saint Marie, Richard Poole found himself leaving cold wintry London and heading for an island in the Caribbean, where it was always summer. The book he had with him was a best-seller, a “real page turner” according to the critics. But it didn’t hold his attention. He tried to watch a movie, but the scenes playing in his brain jammed the signal. 

Richard remembered the day he was told of the transfer back to London. He hadn’t requested it. He hadn’t even looked at the Met openings page in months. He’d done the staff evaluations a month or two earlier and realized that he had an excellent team that he enjoyed working with. This was a novel experience, and he was surprised that it made him happy. He’d begun to wonder if he might be able to adjust to the heat and the bugs and the sand and the rest of it and choose to stay.

Commissioner Patterson had been pleased with the team, too. As Richard’s superior, he completed the DI’s evaluation and sent it off to the Met. Someone there actually read it and noticed the high closure rate. Richard still remembered the conversation.

_Saint Marie, five years earlier_  
“If I might have a word, Inspector?” Patterson loomed large in the doorway. “Perhaps we might take a walk?”

Richard wracked his brain, but couldn’t think of anything he’d done that would earn him a private dressing-down from his boss. Patterson loved to be inscrutable and watch Richard squirm. Well, whatever it was, best to get it over with. He followed the tall man outside and down the steps.

“I think I may have said too many good things about you in your evaluation, Inspector.”

“That was kind of you, sir. But why too many?”

“Apparently, someone at the Met thinks you’re too good for us, that your skills are wasted here. They want you back in London. They’re sending someone new next week and you leave for London the day after he arrives.”

Richard’s mind raced. London! Cool weather, drizzle, Routemaster busses, tea with proper milk, pub food, seafood fried in crisp batter and no eyes! No more living on the verge of heatstroke. No more sand everywhere. It sounded good until he got to _no more Camille._

They’d been growing closer, and in his weaker moments he’d begun to imagine a future with her. Ridiculous, of course. She was too young, too pretty, too lively to want him. And yet she seemed to be reaching out to him, trying to encourage him. And just when he thought he might one day be brave enough, it was all over.

Richard asked Patterson not to tell anyone, as he wanted to find the right time to tell the team. A quiet moment, he said, when their apprehension about a new boss wouldn’t distract them from work.


	2. Awkward

_Saint Marie, five years earlier_

Richard agonized over finding a way to tell his team he was leaving. Should he tell them all together? Or should he talk to Camille first? When he thought he was going home a year ago, he was about to make a happy announcement at La Kaz, right after wrapping up a case. It would have been easy. “Lucky me, I’m going home. Lucky you, you’re rid of me.” But then Juliet had gone into labor, and in the rush to the hospital Richard had been unable to call the Met and arrange the transfer. 

Now his feelings about Saint Marie and its people had changed. Getting a transfer back to London wasn’t the triumph it would have been a year ago. Yes, he would enjoy living in London again. Of course he would. But he would miss his friends, and he thought, just maybe, they’d miss him, too. He wanted to tell them how much he’d miss them, but he didn’t want things to get maudlin. 

He actually resorted to drafting a speech on his computer. No matter how many times he edited it, it sounded stilted and rehearsed when he tried to say it. He worried about where to tell them. La Kaz, over a drink? Formally, in the station? 

Richard continued his deliberations as he packed up the few items he’d moved to Saint Marie. Time was getting short and he would have to say something the next day. Most of his decisions were taken out of his hands by a surprise visit from Camille.

“Richard?” she called as she climbed the steps to the veranda. “Are you home?”

He kicked the open box out of sight by the bed and raced to the door.

“Camille! I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Has something happened?”

“You tell me. You’ve been distracted lately.”

“No, I, um, that is—”

“Omigod!” Camille’s eyes widened as she took in the way Richard was blocking his doorway. “You’ve got someone here! I am so sorry, I should have called, I’ll go.”

“No! Camille, there isn’t anyone here. It isn’t that at all.”

“Then what is it?” She looked past him and saw a closed carton on the floor. “Did you get a new toy and you won’t share it with us? A new telescope? A microscope, maybe?”

Camille slipped past Richard and looked at the box. No, make that _boxes,_ plural. And they were addressed to Richard Poole at an address in London. Too stunned to speak, she just looked at him, eyebrows raised in question. There was nothing for him to do but tell her, straight out.

“I’m going home.”

“Home? London? For how long?”

“I’ve been transferred back. I leave in a few days.”

“Transferred,” She blinked back tears. “But I thought you… _sniff_ ”

“I didn’t ask for it. They decided they needed me back in London more than you needed me here.”

“And how long have you known?”

“A few days.”

The tears may have started as tears of sadness but now they were tears of anger. “And when were you going to tell us? On your way out the door to catch your flight?”

“No. I was going to tell you tomorrow.” Richard couldn’t admit that he’d been afraid of this conversation, so he found a plausible excuse. “I didn’t want anyone to make a fuss, so the less time for a send-off the better. Goodbye speeches and that sort of thing make me uncomfortable.”

“Why wouldn’t you let us care for you? I thought we were friends! And you want to walk away without a backward glance?”

“It’s easier that way, Camille. I mean, you’re here, I’ll be there. There isn’t much point in a friendship over thousands of miles.”

“Yes there is! There’s communication and caring and keeping a connection. People need friends, need to stay connected. Except you. You like being isolated. I forget, you never wanted to be here, did you?” Camille left without giving Richard time to answer. 

He thought about following her and trying to explain. But what was the use? It was like pulling off a plaster. Just pull it off quickly. Going slowly only hurt more.

-o-o-o-o-

Telling Dwayne and Fidel was only a little easier. He got to the station early the next morning, before Camille arrived. Fidel was already there, and Dwayne arrived a minute after Richard.

“Um, I have to tell you something.”

“Is it about Camille?” Fidel asked, noticing that the DS wasn’t there.

“No. Um, she knows already, so I don’t have to wait for her. I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? For where?” Dwayne asked.

“London. I’ve been transferred back.”

“London?” Fidel looked shocked.

“Yes.”

“When?” Dwayne asked a practical question.

“A few days.”

“You should have told us sooner. We don’t have time to plan a decent party!”

“No party, Dwayne, please. I don’t want a big good bye. If you need a party, have one to welcome the new detective. I don’t know who it is, someone from the Met.”

“Can’t wait to see what this one will be like.” They all looked toward the doorway to find Camille leaning on the doorjamb. She strolled to her desk and sat down. Looking at Richard, she said, “Maybe this one will like it here.”

Then the phone rang and police business began for the day, ending the discussion of Richard’s departure.


	3. Goodbye, Hello

_Saint Marie, five years earlier_

 

Richard’s last few days on Saint Marie were uncomfortable. Camille was sulky, Fidel was sad, and Dwayne was apprehensive. Richard was glad he’d put off telling them as long as possible. The uncertainty of a new boss affected people differently, and dealing with the team’s emotions was draining. 

He had avoided celebrations, but did agree to drinks at the end of his last day as Chief of Police. Richard hoped the arrival of his replacement would capture the team’s attention, reducing any fuss they might make over his departure. Fortunately, they had wrapped up their case the day before, and he wouldn’t feel that he was leaving behind any unfinished business. Unfortunately, they had wrapped up their case the day before, and there wasn’t much to do at the station. 

At 2:00, their boredom was relieved.

“Good afternoon, team,” said Selwyn Patterson. “I’d like you to meet Detective Inspector Humphrey Goodman of the Metropolitan Police Force.”

The team stood, and Patterson introduced each member. He saved Richard for last.

“And this is your esteemed predecessor, DI Richard Poole.”

The two men shook hands.

“Hello.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Inspector Poole, I thought you might drive Inspector Goodman out to the house, show him how everything works, and so forth. You are vacating today, are you not?”

“Yes, sir. Boxes have been shipped, and everything is packed except a few essentials. I’m staying at the airport hotel tonight. Early flight tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine. Inspector Goodman, I’ll leave you in good hands. If you’re ready to go, we can move your cases from my car to the Rover.”

“Cases?” asked Richard. “You’ve got your luggage with you?”

“Uh, yes. I packed rather a lot, although some things are being shipped as freight.”

“But you have your cases _with you?”_

“Yes, but I don’t understand. What’s unusual about that?”

Camille smiled and said, “They lost Richard’s for several days. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about the misery of not having a change of clothes.”

“In this heat? I can imagine!” Goodman replied. Not noticing Richard’s attire he added, “I can’t wait to change out of my London suit and into something more appropriate for this climate.”

-o-o-o-o-

“And that’s about it for the kitchen. There are no manuals for any of the appliances. I’m afraid my predecessor was sloppy. But it’s all fairly easy. The shower is pathetic, but other than that the plumbing is fine. You may want to leave the veranda doors open at night for the air flow, but I should warn you that there are free-range chickens in the neighborhood, and they will come right in.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. So be careful when you roll over. There may be a chicken roosting on the other pillow.”

“What was that?” asked Goodman, as something small and green streaked by.

“Oh, that’s just Harry.”

“Harry?”

“A lizard. He lives here.”

“And his name is Harry?”

“Yes, well, I had to call him something, and Harry came to mind. I’m not sure he knows his name, so you can change it if you like. He’s quite useful, really. Catches bugs, which is certainly helpful around here. He does tend to stare. I haven’t been able to explain to him how rude that is.” Richard suddenly heard himself and blushed. “No, I’m not off my head. The lizard seems to consider the house his territory, and he sits and watches me. If I didn’t know how small the reptilian brain is, I’d swear he thinks it’s his house and I am his pet.”

“I hope he’ll adjust to having a new pet. Do I have to do anything for him? Sit up? Roll over?”

Richard laughed, “No. He’s pretty self-sufficient. I doubt the island will ever run out of insects for the lizards to hunt. I do put a bowl of water on the veranda for him, so it would be nice if you’d continue to do that.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“No, that’s it. I’m going to check in at the hotel, Then I’ll be back to pick you up, probably around half five. There’s a small do at La Kaz. That’s the bar Camille’s mother owns. Goodbye for me, hello for you. Give you a chance to get to know your team.” Richard’s gut clenched at the thought that _his_ team was going to belong to someone else soon. He forced a smile and said, “Right, so I’ll see you later.”

-o-o-o-o-

The gathering at La Kaz was pleasant. The team amused Goodman with stories about Richard, including the time he arrested Camille, and the way he figured out the Powell case.

“I mean, he just said, ‘What if one person is actually several people?’ and then he worked out how the three conspirators made us all believe this dead guy was still alive. It was brilliant!”

“Anyone who’d seen the Psev episode of ‘The Avengers’ would figure it out,” said Richard.

“What’s that, Chief?” asked Fidel. “You never told us about that.”

“An old British spy show. My dad had it on videotape. It was one of his favorite shows. In that particular episode, four Russian spies pretended to be the staff of a diplomat. We never see Mr. Psev because he doesn’t exist. His name is an acronym of the initials of the conspirators.”

“I remember that episode,” said Goodman. “I found ‘The Avengers’ on DVD, and wow, Emma Peel was HOT!”

Camille smiled wickedly at Richard, “Was she hot, Richard? As hot as that Fiona woman?”

“Don’t start that!”

“Start what?” asked Goodman.

“Please, leave that story—and all the others—for after I’ve gone. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of laughs at my expense.”

“No! Richard, we tease you because we like you. Friends enjoy a good laugh together. And not all of our stories are at your expense. Dwayne, tell the one about that woman who was here while I was away and Richard was sick.”

“Oh, yeah, that is a good one,” Dwayne grinned. “The Chief was sick with a fever and Camille was in Paris on a course. The Commissioner somehow found this English DS who was here on holiday and got her to help us out. Little gnat of a woman, nasty as anything. She kept calling Fidel ‘Freddie,’ and she made condescending remarks like ‘That’s why _I’m_ the DS and you’re not.’ So when she was about to arrest the wrong person, the Chief dragged himself out of his sickbed and came into the station to make sure the guilty man was arrested.”

“But that isn’t all,” said Fidel. “The Chief said things to her that she’d said to us.”

Dwayne grinned, “Yeah, like when he arrested the right person, he said ‘That’s why _I’m_ the DI and you’re not.’ And he called her by the wrong name. Put her in her place, that’s certain.”

When the laughter died down, Richard stood. “My taxi will be here any minute, so I should go. Goodman, that story illustrates the best advice I can give you. Two bits of advice, now I think about it. One, beware of the chicken soup—”

“Hey!” Camille scowled. Fidel laughed.

“And two, never forget that this team is the best you’ll find anywhere. You’ll be frustrated with old computers, slow internet, having to send forensics over to Guadeloupe. But these people will rise to—and exceed—your expectations no matter what you ask them to do.”

Dwayne shook Richard’s hand. Fidel shook Richard’s hand and then gave him a hug. Camille said softly, “I’ll walk you out.”

Goodman stood and shook Richard’s hand, saying, “I’ve gleaned another bit of advice tonight. Stand by this team and they will love you for it. I hope I can earn their esteem half as much as you have.”

Embarrassed, Richard mumbled, “Thanks,” and walked out.

Outside La Kaz, Richard looked up and down the street for the taxi. Saying goodbye to Camille was going to be the worst part of the evening, and he didn’t want to prolong it. But, in true Saint Marie style, the taxi was late. Richard fidgeted and looked at his watch.

“I’ll miss you. Your tea, your complaining about the heat, your staring at the whiteboard, your suits,” Camille ran her hand along the front of his jacket, smoothing the wrinkles. “Your brilliant deductions, that little self-conscious smile when you make a joke, playing Cluedo, sneaking jelly babies from that tin you kept in the desk.”

“I’ll miss you, too. I doubt I’ll find any women in bikinis to arrest in London. Or someone who will snap her fingers at me. I always meant to learn how you do that snap-point thing. Very effective. I, um, oh look, there’s my taxi.”

“Richard!” Camille stopped him from turning away. She caressed his cheek, then slid her hand behind his neck and kissed him. For a few moments, Richard forgot they were standing in the street and he was about to leave Saint Marie forever. He held her close and kissed her back. When they broke apart, tears were streaming down her face. 

“Camille, I, um, I have to go.”

“I know. _sniff_ Safe home, Richard.”

And he did the last thing he wanted to do. He got in the taxi and waved goodbye as it pulled away.


	4. Arrival

_Saint Marie, present time_

The plane landed smoothly on Saint Marie and as soon as the doors were opened, Richard felt the blast of hot, humid air. He’d worn his lightest suit, but still felt instantly uncomfortable. As soon as he was in the small terminal building, he took off his jacket but kept his tie on. He was there on business and had to look the part. But, dear God, it was hot!

Always willing to learn from his mistakes, Richard had packed a change of shirt, underpants, and socks in the briefcase he’d bought himself to celebrate his promotion. It was finally getting that worn-in look. In a few years, it might look like the old one. 

He stood smirking at the luggage carousel. _Ha!_ he thought, _Go ahead and lose my case. See if I care, I’m onto you, you great luggage-eating monster!_ He almost didn’t bother to wait, but to his great surprise his case was one of the first few to pop out of the chute. Hoping that it was a good omen, he grabbed the case and headed for the lobby.

A man of about fifty called out, “Inspector Poole?” when he saw Richard. All the other arriving passengers looked like they were on holiday. Only one was wearing a suit.

Richard approached the man in the smart uniform and said, “Yes, I’m DCI Poole.”

“I’m Commissioner Stephens. Welcome to Saint Marie.” They got into the Commissioner’s car, and Richard was pleased to find that it was air conditioned. Rank gets its luxuries, he supposed. 

“I spoke to Patterson about you. He retired a few years ago, but I’m sure that’s old news to you. Chief Abbott would have been here to meet you, but there was some sort of ‘do’ at the school. So I’ll drop you at your hotel. You can settle in and then wander over to the station at your leisure. You’re staying right in Honoré. The hotel on Front Street was bought last year and has been nicely renovated. So you’ll be close to everything, restaurants, the station. Not like being out all alone at the beach house.”

“Does Chief Abbott live there?”

“No. That shack is no place to raise a child. They live in a house in the hills above Honoré.”

“Ah, here we are. Get checked in, and as I said, go to the station for a briefing. You’ll get to see the prisoner tomorrow.”

“Right. Thank you. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Richard’s room looked out on the little beach and the water beyond it. It was quieter than facing the street, although he expected that there would be little quiet to be had once the bars got going in the evening. 

He sat on his balcony, grateful for the shade. When he first returned to London, he’d found it difficult to fall asleep without the sound of the waves. He’d managed to track down one of those little sound machines for the nights when he couldn’t sleep. But nothing sounded as good as the real thing. He looked at his watch. In London it was tea time. He wondered if La Kaz was still the only place to get a decent cup of tea. Did Catherine still own it? He preferred to do without tea than face the town, so he opened a bottle of water and tried to summon some courage. He dreaded the walk through town to get to the station. Would anyone recognize him? Would there be awkward questions? 

And who was at the station now? Why hadn’t he thought to find out before he left London? He took out his tablet, intending to do a search, but the battery was nearly flat. He plugged in the charger. His phone still had power, but he hated using it to go online. He had his despised reading glasses with him, but even with them the small screen was a nuisance to use.

Finally, with nothing else to do, Richard dragged himself out of the hotel and walked to the station. If anyone in town recognized him, nobody said anything. He climbed the steps to the station, and paused on the porch to take a deep breath. The steps hadn’t winded him. One of the benefits of living in a cooler climate was that it was comfortable to exercise. He ran several times a week, and was in better shape than when he’d been on Saint Marie. No, he needed the deep breath to steady himself. 

Richard reminded himself that he was a Detective Chief Inspector from the Metropolitan Police Force, and there was nothing in this little Caribbean police station to intimidate him. Or was there?

A young woman in a police constable uniform greeted Richard. He told her who he was and why he was there. She knew nothing about it, but was sure that the Chief would be back very soon.

“I don’t care if you don’t like the mattress.” A familiar deep voice could be heard from the cells. Richard smiled when he heard, “At least there’s no goat in here with you.”

Officer Sanderson smiled nervously and said, “That’s just Dwayne, um Officer Meyers. He always says that when a prisoner complains about something. Apparently, it’s an old joke.”

“Relax, it’s fine that you call him Dwayne. No need to be more formal than you usually are because you’ve got a visitor. I remember how informal things can be.”

“Can I get you something? Coffee? Water?”

“No thanks,” Richard held up his water bottle. 

Another familiar voice was heard from the porch, “Hey Dwayne, you won’t believe it! Somebody thought they saw—Sir!”

“Hello, Fidel,” Richard noticed that Fidel was not in uniform. He smiled and said, “Or should I say Detective Best?”

“Yes, sir.” Fidel shook Richard’s hand.

“Congratulations, Fidel.”

“I wouldn’t have got this far if you hadn’t put me forward for sergeant.”

“I may have helped, but your hard work got you where you are, so well done.”

“What are you shouting about, Fidel?” Dwayne emerged from the cells.

“Look who’s here!”

“Chief? Is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s me. But don’t call me Chief. I understand your chief is someone called Abbott. I don’t want to usurp his position.”

Dwayne and Fidel exchanged nervous looks.

“What?” Richard asked. “I was joking. Is he that tough? How many have you had since me?”

Fidel counted on his fingers. “Four.”

Richard shook his head, “I know the Met like to keep a presence here, but it doesn’t seem to work out well. They should promote someone local. Maybe you’ll be Chief one day, Fidel.


	5. The New Chief

It was a slow day, so Fidel and Dwayne had time to chat with Richard while he waited to meet the new chief. Fidel showed Richard pictures of Rosie and her little brother Marcus. Richard nodded and said nice things about the pictures, but all the while he was trying to figure out how to ask about Camille. There still were only four desks at the station. He was with three members of the team, and Chief Abbott was out somewhere. That made four. So where had Camille gone?

Richard tried an oblique move by asking about Catherine.

“Yes,” said Dwayne, “She still has La Kaz. She expanded the patio across the street to be a beach bar. It’s still where we go to celebrate closing a case. You should stop by, give her a chance to dust off the tea set. I bet nobody has asked for tea since you left.”

“And is, um, you know, um—”

“Chief!” Sanderson exclaimed.

“So this is what you do when I’m not here, stand around and gossip?” said a familiar voice.

“Oh, Camille, but this is a special occasion. Look who’s here!” Dwayne grinned at the stunned expression on Camille’s face.

“Richard?”

“Camille? You’re Chief?” His eyes immediately went to her left hand, but he couldn’t see if she was wearing a ring. “Abbott? You’re Chief Abbott?”

“Yes. What are you doing here?”

“I, um, prisoner, um, cold case…" 

“He’s here to interview Oscar Winters,” Sanderson added helpfully.

“Yes, right. Winters could give us some leads in a cold case I’m working. Didn’t the Commissioner tell you?”

“No. He didn’t mention it. He tends to forget to tell me details like that.”

“Ah. I see.” Well, Richard thought, at least he wasn’t the only one caught unawares. He couldn’t think of an unobtrusive way to ask about her marriage, so he fell back on his other question. “So you’re Chief?”

“Yes. Why do you keep asking that?” Camille was annoyed at his inability to accept her promotion. “Don’t tell me you don’t think I can do the job! I’m a DI, so I’ve caught up to you. Or have you moved ahead again?”

“Um, yes, actually. DCI. Two years ago.”

Damn! The idea of being on equal footing had seemed appealing. She asked, “Why are you on a cold case?”

“That’s my job now. I’m on a team that specializes in revisiting old cases when new evidence turns up. Or, as in this case, a new contact.”

“Winters.”

“Yes. The Commissioner said you could brief me on his case and I could talk to him tomorrow.”

“Winters is being held at Government House. If he remembered, the Commissioner should have arranged your visit. Meanwhile, DS Best can give you the background,” Camille smiled at Fidel. “He did a lot of the work on the case.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

While Fidel told Richard about Oscar Winters and how they had arrested him for smuggling, Dwayne went out to do a patrol around Honoré. Camille suspected that his real intent was gossip, but at least it stopped him watching her, which he had been doing since she had walked into the station. Dwayne knew how upset she had been when Richard left. He’d watched her then, always ready to lend a sympathetic ear or say something to make her smile. Now he seemed to be trying to gauge her reaction to Richard’s return.

It wasn’t long before Camille’s mobile rang. She looked at the screen and sighed.

“Hello, Maman.”

pause

“Yes, it’s true.”

pause

“No, I didn’t know.”

pause

“Maman, I’m fine.” Camille kept her voice low so that Richard wouldn’t hear her. “It was a long time ago.”

pause

“It’s just a few days. You don’t have to—” 

pause

“Yes, Maman… no, I won’t… All right, see you later.”

Dwayne returned shortly after Catherine’s call. Richard was amused to see Camille use the snap-point on Dwayne. He walked out onto the porch with his boss hard on his heels.

“You had to tell Maman, didn’t you?” she hissed.

“She already knew. You know how fast the grapevine works. She even had the tea set washed and ready to go. You gonna be okay?”

“I’m fine. The two of you need to stop worrying about me.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard fell back onto his bed. Dinner at La Kaz had been exhausting. He’d dreaded reproofs about his lack of contact over the years, but nobody said anything. For some reason, Catherine seemed displeased to see him. But the others simply picked up where they left off five years ago, laughing at the same old stories. Dwayne was a bit more grizzled, but he had the same roguish sense of humor. Fidel was more confident now that he was a detective, but he and Juliet were the same sweet couple. 

Richard felt sorry for Carrie Sanderson. The constable didn’t have the history that the rest of the group did. He noticed that Dwayne did his best to fill her in when punchlines or connections weren’t obvious. For a moment, Richard had wondered at Dwayne’s attentions to a much younger woman. Then he realized that Dwayne had an almost fatherly interest in the young constable. Richard had always suspected Dwayne had found ways to encourage Fidel. And now he was trying to help another young officer find her way. Richard couldn’t help smiling. That was Dwayne, all right. The rascal with a heart of gold.

And then there was Camille. So many changes there. Fidel had gone to the hotel early to “collect” Richard and walk him over to the party. Not that Richard needed help finding La Kaz, but Dwayne and Fidel had talked about it and decided Richard should be filled in before the gathering. Camille was divorced, but didn’t talk about that. She had a small child, a little girl called Aimee.

Camille had seemed subdued at first, and Richard was uncomfortable with Catherine watching them so closely. Then Richard had asked about Aimee, and Camille relaxed as she showed pictures and talked about her daughter. 

Richard answered questions about London and his new assignment. He explained the connection between their prisoner and his current case. He avoided saying anything about his private life because, well, because he didn’t have much of a life. He expected Camille to make one of her jokes about his “monastic cell,” but she didn’t. 

Claiming jetlag, Richard excused himself fairly early. He was surprised when Camille rose and said “I’ll walk you out.” He wasn’t in the mood for déjà vu, but saw no way of avoiding a private conversation. Outside La Kaz, she seemed to want to say something, but instead she simply wished him “bonne nuit” and returned to the bar.

Richard sat up and turned on a light. He pulled out his wallet and dug out the folded piece of paper tucked inside. After leaving La Kaz on his last night on Saint Marie, he’d found the paper in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He’d read the letter so many times it was committed to memory. But he read it again anyway.

>   
>  Dear Richard,
> 
> There’s so much I want to say, and I don’t trust myself to say it tonight, so I’m writing it down in hope of being coherent. I know I’ll cry when you leave, so I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable. But I’m sad to know you’re leaving, and friends do cry when they part.
> 
> And we ARE friends. I’d hoped we might be more one day. I thought we had more time, that there was no hurry. And now you’re leaving.
> 
> I wish you had liked it here more, felt able to assimilate. I probably should have helped you more. I guess I was waiting for you to ask me to help. But you always wanted to go back to London, so for your sake I’m glad you got what you wanted. You are the most brilliant man I’ve ever known. You’ve spent your whole life reading and learning and sometimes I feel so inadequate, like I’ve wasted my time on frivolous activities. If someday I can be half the detective you are, I’ll be pleased with myself.
> 
> You tried to keep us out, but I’ve learned a lot about you, Richard. You can be very funny, but then you act as if you didn’t mean to be, just in case we don’t laugh at your jokes. I used to think you were arrogant, but now I know that you’re shy. You’re kind and caring, but you get embarrassed when somebody thanks you for a kindness you’ve done.
> 
> You were a wonderful boss. You treated us with respect, encouraged us to make suggestions and ask questions. Do you even know how often you say “thank you” or “well done” during an investigation? It sounds like such a simple thing, but you’ve made us feel valued. You put up with an awful lot of bad behavior from me. You could have written me up for insubordination dozens of times. Thank you for not doing that. You probably saved my career!
> 
> You’re one of a kind, Richard Poole, and I feel blessed that I got to know you, at least a little.
> 
> Love always,  
>  Camille  
> 


	6. The New Chief and the Old Chief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, you've all been speculating like mad! Thank you for all the comments.  
> This chapter won't answer all your questions, but there is a bit of info about Aimee in this chapter.

The next morning, Richard had an early breakfast and was waiting for Fidel to drive him to Government House when Camille showed up instead.

“Good morning.”

“Camille! You look, um, very professional.” Richard tried not to look her up and down, but he was surprised at her appearance. Her old wardrobe of shorts and tank top had been replaced by a skirt and modest blouse. The old cord bracelets had been replaced by a small gold bangle. He noticed that she had tied her hair back again. He remembered watching her untie it last night at La Kaz when she was relaxing with her team. 

“Well, I have to dress the part. I am chief of police, even if you don’t think I should be.”

“Camille, I never said that.”

“You certainly seemed surprised to learn about it.”

“Actually, when I learned that you’re Chief Abbot, I was more surprised about the Abbot part.”

“Ah, so you thought I couldn’t find anyone to marry me?”

“No, Camille, that isn’t what I meant. I didn’t know. I suppose, in my mind, you’re all still the same as you were. I didn’t _know.”_

“And whose fault is that?”

“Look, Camille, I don’t want to argue. Fidel should be here any minute.”

“No. I’m driving you to Government House. Are you ready?”

Richard followed her to the street. He was surprised to see her open the door of a small sedan.

“What happened to the Defender?”

“It died of old age. We have a new Rover now. Well, not _new,_ but new to us and newer than the Defender.”

“And you also have an unmarked car?”

“No, this is my car. I sometimes use it for official business. That keeps the Rover available for the others to use. Get in. We don’t have all day.” Camille slid into the driver’s seat and Richard got in on the passenger side. He glanced back and noticed the child seat.

“Aimee is only three, so she sits in the back,” Camille explained. “The age at which a kid can get out of the child seat keeps going up. Some days I think she’ll be a teenager before she can sit in the front with me.”

Richard shook his head slightly.

“What?” Camille seemed to be spoiling for a fight.

“Nothing. It’s just that so much has changed.”

“A lot can change in five years, Richard. You’d know what was going on here if you’d kept in touch. We tried to email, but you never answered.”

Richard remembered Camille’s use of driving time to discuss whatever _she_ wanted to talk about. Clearly, there was no avoiding this.

“I thought it was for the best. I never expected to be here again. Why hang onto something you can’t have?”

“Why give up on something? On people who care about you?”

“We went over this before I left. I felt it would be better to make a clean break, not try to hang onto something I could never have. It’s difficult to explain. I’ve learned…” he paused to gather his thoughts. “I’ve had enough experience with not getting what I want that I’ve learned how to deal with it. I’ve learned how to not want things I can’t have.”

“You are the most unsentimental person I have ever met!” she huffed.

They arrived at Government House and Richard got out of the car. He leaned down before closing the door and said, “Thanks for the ride. You don’t need to wait. I’ll get a taxi or ask someone here to drive me back.”

He turned and walked away. Camille’s last remark stung. He was actually very sentimental. He’d fought it all his life because letting sentiment get the better of him always ended up with him being hurt. Five years and he still thought of that last night, saying goodbye in the street. But he couldn’t tell Camille that. What would be the point? He was going home in a few days. 

Camille watched Richard walk into the building. She hadn’t meant to argue like that. Five years and he still got under her skin. That crack about not being sentimental was uncalled for. Damn her temper! He said he’d learned to not want what he couldn’t have. She couldn’t seem to learn that lesson, no matter how hard she tried.

-o-o-o-o-

Dwayne was a little sorry he’d been such an inattentive student. If he’d been more of a scholar, he could have written a hell of a PhD dissertation on the psychology of Camille Bordey Abbot. When she arrived at the station, he could tell she was upset. She greeted everyone and asked about the status of ongoing cases as she usually did. But he could see that she was struggling with something. Instead of sitting down, she stopped at the side of her desk, the desk that used to be Richard’s. She ran her fingers along the back of the chair and tapped the desk top idly. Yup, she was thinking about Richard. Fidel had said that she’d driven Richard to Government House. From the looks of things, Dwayne would bet that they’d argued.

Camille took out her mobile. “Fidel, do you have Rich—Inspector Poole’s number? I need to send him a message.”

“Sure, Chief, I have it written down right here,” Fidel took out a small notebook and read off the number.

Camille tapped at her mobile, then picked up a file and started to review a case.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard was tired. Winters hadn’t been cooperative. At first, he denied anything and everything Richard said. Finally, Richard mentioned a confederate, a man high up in the smuggling world and Winters flinched. Winters was finally convinced that cooperating with Richard on the old London case could mean less prison time for his current case, and he provided some useful information. 

While he waited for an officer from Government House to drive him back to Honoré, Richard took out his mobile to call the Met with an update. He was surprised to see that he’d received a text. The screen showed it was from C. Abbot.

_Richard, sorry about this am. Pls let me make it up to you. Dinner at mine tonight?_

-o-o-o-o-

“I’m sorry, Chief, said Fidel. “Mrs. Harris wasn’t able to identify the attacker. I think the computer was part of the problem. She said there were too many faces to look at.”

Camille frowned, but didn’t say anything. 

Dwayne watched Camille turn her mobile over and over in her hands. Had she been paying attention to Fidel? Dwayne’s guess was she was still thinking about Richard, maybe hoping he’d call.

“I’m sorry,” Fidel repeated.

She shrugged, “It was worth a try. I suppose older witnesses are less comfortable with the computerized mug shots. What about forensics?”

“Not yet,” said Carrie. “I called to check just before you got here.”

Camille’s mobile buzzed. She glanced at the screen and bit her lip. Dwayne watched her closely. Probably a text from Richard, and her nervous reaction confirmed his suspicion that they’d argued.

“I guess the next step is another canvas of the neighborhood. Dwayne, Carrie, see if there’s anyone at the houses where you got no response last time. Fidel, call the hospital and see if the victim is able to be interviewed yet.”

“Right, Chief.” Fidel picked up the phone.

“On it.” Carried walked toward the door.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” Dwayne said to Carrie. After Carrie left, he turned to Camille, “You okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You didn’t argue with a certain someone?”

“Dwayne, I’m fine. I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry.”

“You can tell me not to interfere, but you can’t stop me worrying about you.”

“Canvas.” Camille smiled and snap-pointed toward the door.

Dwayne saluted and said, “On my way, Chief.”

Camille tapped on her mobile, read the message, and frowned. Fidel, on hold with the hospital, tried to avoid getting caught watching her. Camille walked out onto the porch and read the message again.

_Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think that’s a good idea._

-o-o-o-o-

Richard’s mobile rang just as he walked into his hotel room. He looked at the caller ID and sighed. Might as well answer, he thought. She’d just keep calling or show up at the hotel if he didn’t.

“Hello, Camille.”

_“Richard, I’m sorry.”_

“No need to apologize.”

_“Yes, there is. I… You know my temper. You probably won’t believe it, but most of the time I have better control over my tongue. Please come to dinner. I promise not to be so cranky.”_

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

_“Please. I’d like you to meet Aimee. Not many people know who she’s named for, But you were there, you knew about her. It’s… I don’t know why, but it’s important to me that you meet her.”_

Richard sighed. “You’ll pester me until I say yes, won’t you?”

_“Ah, you remember my MO. Six o’clock, and no tie!”_

“Yes, Chief.” Richard ended the call and stared out at the ocean. Perhaps this could be a good idea, he thought. She has a home, a child, a life. Maybe seeing all that would help him to accept it.


	7. Aimee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Aimee lives up to readers' expectations. I don't know a lot about 3-year-olds, so I may have made her seem too old. She really is three, not four years and three months. She's just precocious.

Richard felt like an idiot. He’d brought flowers, and now he was standing at Camille’s door at a house surrounded by lush flowers. When she told him her address, he realized it wasn’t the little house she’d rented five years ago, but he hadn’t expected this. How could a divorced police detective with a small child afford a house like this?

Camille answered the door and smiled nervously. “Thank you for coming.”

Richard held out the flowers, “I, um…”

“They’re lovely, thank you.”

“Coals to Newcastle, but I didn’t know…” he gestured to the gardens.

“Coals to where?”

“It means bringing something not needed. The expression originates from when Newcastle was a coal mining area of England, so bringing coal there would be pointless.”

“Flowers are never pointless,” Camille replied. Trying to ease Richard’s discomfort, she added, “I didn’t pick any for the table, so these will be perfect. Go through to the patio, and I’ll be right out. Beer?” 

“Yes, thank you.” Richard walked through the open-plan living area and onto a large patio. 

Through a tall fence, he could see a pool. 

“I know,” said Camille behind him. “The fence is hideous. But you can’t be too careful with a small child, so I had the pool fenced off. Speaking of the child, this is Aimee.” 

Turning to her daughter, Camille said, “Aimee, this is my friend Richard.”

Richard looked down at Camille’s daughter. Her skin was lighter than Camille’s, but her hair and eyes were just as dark. Aimee wore a pink dress, and barrettes with pink bows did their best to control her curls. She held out her hand in a very grownup way and said hello.

“Hello, Aimee,” he replied as he gently shook her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Apropos of nothing, Aimee wiggled her fingers and pointed to her feet. “Maman painted my nails.”

“Very nice. Is pink your favourite colour?”

“Yes! How did you know?” She smiled widely, and Richard noticed that she had dimples. He didn’t know much about small children, and he’d never thought one could be so adorable. He smiled back at her.

“Lucky guess?”

“I loooove pink!” Aimee cooed as she twirled around.

Richard took the hint and said, “I see that your dress is pink, too. And very pretty.”

And my bows are pink and my under—”

“Aimee, that’s enough showing off. Why don’t you go over to your table and colour while Richard and I talk, okay?”

“Oui, Maman.” Aimee skipped off to the living area and sat at a low table. Camille led Richard to a sofa where they could talk but still keep an eye on the child.

Camille handed Richard a beer and said, “I’m sorry. She can be shameless about fishing for compliments. Too many of my friends indulge her, I’m afraid.”

“She’s charming. And the pink dress is pretty.” He paused and added. “You look very pretty, too. Sorry, should have said that sooner.”

“Thank you. It’s okay, I’m used to being upstaged by the little princess. She’s going through a _very_ girly phase just now. Everything has to be pink. A few months ago, she was crazy for yellow. God only knows what color it will be next week.”

Richard took in Camille’s softly gathered dress, loosely curling hair, and bare feet with toenails painted to match her daughter’s. “You look quite different from earlier.”

“As I said, I have to dress for the job. I understand better why you wore a suit all the time. Sometimes I long for the old days when I wasn’t chief and someone else could deal with the Commissioner and wear the serious clothes and make assignments. Well, I don’t have to tell you. You’ve done the job.”

They were silent for a moment, each thinking back to their days of working together. Richard drank his beer, trying to think of something to say. The lull was broken by the arrival of Aimee, waving a piece of paper.

“I drew a picture for you!” she said, handing the paper to Richard. As he took it, he prayed he’d be able to figure out what it was. No problem. It was blobs of pink atop lines of green.

“Very pretty,” he said. “Do you have flowers like those in your garden?”

“Uh huh,” Aimee nodded and pointed to the vines that climbed the pool fence. “Do you have flowers like that in your garden?”

“No, I don’t think they grow in London.”

“What’s London?”

“London is where Richard lives. It’s on an island that’s far away,” said Camille. “You know how we sometimes take the ferry to Guadeloupe? Imagine going back and forth and back and forth, five times. That’s how long it will take Richard to get to London in an airplane.”

“Why doesn’t he take a boat?”

“That takes much longer. A week, maybe more. You know how long it is between church Sundays?”

Aimee nodded.

“Well, that’s how long it would take for a boat to get to London.”

“Actually, a ship large enough for such a journey might not get up the Thames into London. It would more likely…” Richard trailed off when he saw Camille’s exasperated expression. Too much information for a three-year-old.

Camille excused herself to check on dinner, and Aimee sat down next to Richard.

“Why don’t these flowers grow in London?” she asked.

“These flowers grow best in hot weather. They would probably die in the winter.”

“What’s winter?”

“It’s one of the four seasons. Well, in London, there are four seasons. Here, you know how part of the year it’s rainy and part of the year it’s drier?”

“Uh huh.”

“In London, some parts of the year are very cold. That part of the year is called winter. You know how when you ride in Maman’s car and she turns up the air conditioning full blast?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, the whole city gets that cold. Even colder.”

“A whole city has air conditioning?” Aimee looked incredulous.

“Not like in the house or the car. The air is colder because London is farther north.” Seeing Aimee’s blank look he realized he was venturing into the land of TMI again. “I’ll get you a globe and Maman can show you where London is. How’s that?”

“What’s a globe?”

“It’s a representation—um, it’s a model that shows the whole world and where all the cities are.”

“Like a map, Aimee.” Camille walked onto the patio. “Remember when we looked at the book of maps?”

“The land was lots of colors and the water was blue.”

“That’s right. A globe is like maps on a ball.”

“Oh.” Amy frowned in concentration, trying to picture a map stuck onto a ball.

“Never mind that now,” said Camille. “Dinner is ready.”

Camille lifted Aimee onto the booster seat. Aimee proudly told Richard that she didn’t use a high chair because “I’m not a baby anymore.”

“I can see that,” said Richard. “You’re quite the grown up young lady. You're almost as grown up as Maman.”

Camille rolled her eyes. Aimee giggled and said, “You’re funny!”

Dinner was simple. Camille had barbecued steak for them and chicken for Aimee. She cut up Aimee’s food before they sat down to eat, so the meal went smoothly. Excited to have a new admirer, Aimee talked more than Camille liked. Several times Camille had to remind her daughter to eat, not talk. Richard entertained Aimee with stories about living at the beach with the chickens and Harry.

“That was delicious,” said Richard when the meal was over. “Thank you for preparing something not seafood. It was good of you to remember.”

“I remember a lot of things from five years ago,” Camille said softly. Once again, a moment of silence was interrupted by Aimee.

“Can I have dessert?” she asked.

“Just a cookie and then it’s time for bed.”

“Mamaaannnn,” Aimee whined.

“You’ve been a good girl all evening, Aimee Catherine. Let’s not spoil it now.” Camille began to clear the table.

Aimee pouted and Richard decided to help the cause. “It’s important to get enough sleep. It helps you to grow up to be strong and healthy.”

Aimee didn’t seem impressed, so he tried another angle. “Have you ever heard the expression _beauty sleep?_ ”

“No.”

“Well, it means that if you go to bed and have a nice long rest, you will grow up to be beautiful, like Maman.”

“Do you think Maman is beautiful?”

“Yes. She’s very beautiful.” Out of the corner of his eye, Richard could see Camille pause in the kitchen doorway. Oh well, it was only the truth, no reason she shouldn’t hear him say it.

“Here’s your cookie,” Camille covered the potentially awkward moment by setting the plate in front of Aimee. Turning to Richard, she said, “I have rum cake for us later. I have to get her off to bed. So while I do that, tea? coffee? another beer?”

“For now, just a glass of water would be fine. I’ll finish clearing the table for you.”

“You’re a guest, you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, really.”

So while Camille got Aimee settled in bed, Richard collected dishes and carried them into the kitchen. Per Camille’s instructions, he simply set them on the worktop. He looked around the kitchen. He was no Gordon Ramsay, but even he could tell that the appliances were top-of-the-line. The whole house looked like something out of a glossy home magazine. Who on earth was Camille’s ex?


	8. Tom

While Richard waited for Camille, he wandered out to the patio. The patio area, like the rest of the house, had been decorated with care. Underwater lighting made the pool glow softly. Flowering vines climbed the pool fence. A flowering hedge bordered one side of the patio. Richard had forgotten how luxuriant Caribbean gardens could be. He was trying to remember the name of the flowering vine when Camille walked out onto the patio.

“It’s bougainvillea.”

“Ah, right. And what’s the fragrant flower?”

“Frangipani,” Camille replied, pointing to the hedge.”

“Fortunate that you planted pink flowers, considering Aimee’s fondness for pink.”

“When her favourite colour changes, I’m not replanting the garden. It’s a struggle to keep Maman from spoiling her. I do not intend to raise a spoiled brat.”

“She’s hardly that. She’s charming. I think your friend Aimee would be pleased with her namesake.”

“I hope so.” Camille set a tray on a low table and they sat on the sofa. She handed Richard a cup of tea and took coffee for herself. “Not many people know about Aimee. But you were there. You caught her killer. I thought you would understand.”

“I do. You’re honoring the memory of someone who was important to you.”

“Maman knows. Fidel and Dwayne, of course. And now you.”

“And Aimee’s father.”

“No. I told Tom—that’s my ex—it was the name of a childhood friend and I liked the name. I was afraid he’d think it was morbid. Maman thought it was.”

“Speaking of Maman, why was she looking at me so oddly last night? I know I always had a knack for annoying her, but I didn’t think I did anything irritating this time.”

“You didn’t. She was worried about me, that seeing you again would upset me. I’m sorry if she made you feel uncomfortable. She’s afraid she’ll have to have the talk with me again.”

“The talk?”

“I was upset when you left. She kept trying to set up blind dates and I kept refusing. She finally sat me down and said, ‘He isn’t coming back, Camille. You need to get on with your life.’ She was right, even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.” 

“And you did get on with your life. You got married. You said his name is Tom—” Richard paused in midsentence, eyes wide. Now he understood the luxurious home and extensive grounds. “Wait a minute! Tom Abbot? As in Abbot Marine?”

“Yes.”

“Huge container ships.”

“Yes. Also port services. He was expanding that part of his business into the Caribbean. His company is now a port agent for Saint Marie and several other islands. I met him when he came to see Saint Marie. Part of his business trip included meeting local officials. We were introduced when he came to the station, and he asked me to show him some of the sights. 

“I knew he hand money, I mean, he had his own company, of course there was money. But I had no idea how much. He was simply a nice guy who came along at a time when I needed someone new. He was outgoing, open to new ideas—couldn’t wait to climb the volcano and try our watersports. He loved it here, and although he had to travel a lot for work, he wanted to make this his home. We married after a few months.

“Tom was gregarious, enthusiastic about being here—at least at first. Excited about new experiences, crazy about the local food. He did all the adjusting. No negotiations, no discussions, whatever I wanted was good for him. I chose this house. He suggested something larger, but I wanted this one. I think he was looking for a base for business entertainment, but I wanted a _home,_ not a guest house full of strangers.

“Aimee was born just after our first anniversary, but he wasn’t here for the birth. We had to reschedule her christening three times because of his business trips. I asked if we should move to New York so he could be near his business, but he said he’d have to travel no matter what, so I might as well live on Saint Marie. 

“I think he gradually realized that I wasn’t going to be an exotic trophy wife. I didn’t want expensive jewelry or fancy clothes. I traveled with him a few times, and I think he saw how different I was from other corporate wives. He wanted me to get a nanny for Aimee so I could travel with him more. But I wanted to be home with Aimee. And Maman. 

“We dragged on for another year, mostly living apart. And then we got divorced. I said all I wanted was my daughter and my house. I didn’t want to be one of those women who marry a rich man and take him for all she can get. Tom was really good about it. He said I was the most decent of his ex-wives. He gave me full custody of Aimee, although he can visit her here. And he signed over the house. He also insisted on setting up a trust fund for Aimee’s education. Despite all of that he said he was getting away easily.”

“And you went back to work?”

“I had extended my leave to the limit, and the Commissioner said I had to make a choice about working or resigning. I decided to go back to work. Maman watched Aimee until she was old enough for nursery school. Tom moved his Caribbean base to the Bahamas, and although we’re in touch for any issues to do with Aimee, he doesn’t visit. A clean break, as you would say.”

“When did you get the promotion to Chief?”

“It was Commissioner Patterson’s last move before retiring. He convinced the Met that their parade of officers wasn’t working out. Goodman fell in love with an actress when a film company was here, and he ran off with her. Lewiston had two attacks of heat stroke and demanded to go back to England. Smythe drank like a fish and got fired. So Patterson promoted me to DI and gave me the station. Fidel got his promotion the next year. Dwayne stayed on although he could probably take early retirement if he wanted it. And Carrie Sanderson came in as our new constable. We’re a good team. I learned a lot from you. We all did.”

“Thank you.”

“What about you?”

Richard shrugged, “I told you. I’m on a cold case team.”

“What else?” Camille looked at his hands. “You aren’t married?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No. I work, then go home to my monastic cell, as you used to say.”

“I would have thought you’d find an English woman who was your type.”

“I don’t think I have a type. I want a one-of-a-kind, once-in-a-lifetime, not someone generic.”

“Not a classic English rose?”

“No, if there even is such a thing anymore. I almost… but she wasn’t available.”

“Oh, Richard, how sad. Was she married?”

“No. Just off-limits.” The conversation was getting uncomfortable, so Richard changed the subject. “But enough about me. My life is boring. I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out, but at least you’ve got Aimee. She’s very sweet.”

“When she wants to be. Unfortunately, she has my temper.” Camille bit her lip nervously.

“What?”

“And she appears to have my taste in men. When I was putting her to bed, she told me she likes you very much.”

“Camille,” Richard shook his head.

“It took me about a year after the divorce to finally admit that I married Tom because he was the opposite of you. Maman said it first, actually. She said she thought my marriage would work because he was so different from you. She didn’t realize when she said it, neither did I, that Tom was my way of proving to myself that I wasn’t in love with you. But the thing is…”

“No, Camille. You were intrigued by a dream, a what-if. We have no way of knowing what would have happened if I’d stayed here.”

“But at least we’d have _known._ I feel like I did five years ago. There isn’t enough time to find out.” Camille swiped at her tears. “Sorry, I know you hate emotional scenes.”

“I hate seeing you so upset.” Richard reached out to wipe away a tear. Camille fell into his arms and he held her tightly. All those years of denial disappeared. He couldn’t pretend anymore that he hadn’t been falling in love with her five years ago. But he had to leave then, and he had to leave in two days.

“I’m sorry,” Camille said between sniffles, but she made no move to pull away.

Richard stroked her hair and said, “I think you’re the only woman who ever cried over me.”

“Twice.”

“I remember that night. I didn’t want to leave.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“I know. Your note was…” Richard couldn’t finish.

“You found it, then.”

“Yes. I still have it. It’s the closest thing to a love letter I’ve ever received.”

“It’s the closest to one I’ve ever written. If I write a better one this time, will you come back to Saint Marie? In less than five years?

“Camille, I’m not… we can’t…we wouldn’t work out. I’m too old for you, for one thing.”

“You aren’t that much older than I am. Tom is older than you are.”

“And you have Aimee.”

“Oh.” Camille looked hurt. “So because I have another man’s child…”

“No! No, that isn’t it. But if I came back here, we’d have to explain us to her. And if it didn’t work out, we’d have to explain me leaving. She probably doesn’t remember her father leaving. But if she got attached to me at all and then I left, it would be difficult for her.”

“It would be difficult for me, too, Richard. But why are you assuming we couldn’t work out?”

“My point is that the risk isn’t only for us. A small child is so vulnerable. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. I have to go back to London.”

“You could visit.”

“Camille…”

“At least stay in touch. So many times as chief, I’ve wished I could talk to you, ask for advice. Please? I understand if you don’t love me. But at least be my friend? Don’t wall yourself off from us again.” 

For a moment, Richard was tempted to tell Camille the truth. But no good could come of that. It didn’t matter that he loved her. He still had to go back to London. 

“No wall, I promise.” He stood and said, “I should go. It’s getting late.”

Camille called a taxi and walked Richard to the door. They stood waiting, awkwardly, each remembering their goodbye five years earlier. If she kissed him like that again, Richard wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave. So he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, said goodnight, and got in the taxi.


	9. Staying in Touch

Dwayne watched Camille fidget with her mobile. He’d caught her at it before, so he knew what she was looking at. The team reunion photo at La Kaz seemed like a good idea when Carrie offered to take it. She caught them all smiling and laughing, capturing the moment perfectly. But now, Dwayne could see that looking at it made Camille sad. She tried to hide it, but Dwayne knew her too well. 

Camille enlarged the photo on her mobile so all she could see was Richard’s face. It was a rare unguarded moment. Relaxed and smiling, he looked years younger than he usually did. This was the Richard she missed. The man who would sometimes open up and talk to her, really talk about things that mattered to him. And then he would close up, tighter than a clam out of water. Five years ago, they were starting to be supportive of each other, attuned to each other’s moods and needs. She had seen a possible future. And then he was gone. And now he was gone again. 

But at least this time they were staying in touch. So far it had been nothing more than short emails, casual things like the weather and stray comments about cases or things they heard somewhere. But if she kept the communication going…

Camille sighed, put down the mobile, and picked up a file. There was work to do.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard sighed impatiently. An accident had brought traffic to a standstill, and he would be late for work. As he looked out the bus window, he found himself thinking about Saint Marie. Rush hour in Honoré meant a dozen cars driving through town. 

All around him, passengers were on their mobiles, calling in late to work. Richard sent a brief text to his team. He was about to put away his mobile, but instead opened his photo gallery. The most recent picture was the one Carrie Sanderson had taken of the team on Saint Marie. He almost didn’t recognize himself, so relaxed and smiling. If he didn’t look too closely, they looked as they had five years earlier. 

Richard enlarged the picture. No, they didn’t look exactly the same. Dwayne was bit more grizzled. Fidel’s face was a bit less boyish. Richard grimaced when he realized how much his hairline had changed. He looked at Camille. She didn’t look older, but something was different. She looked… content. The restless challenging nature had given way to something more—he smiled at the thought—more grown up.

-o-o-o-o-

Two weeks after Richard left Saint Marie, a large package arrived at the station. Carrie accepted it from the mail carrier.

“Hey Chief,” she said, “Here’s something for Aimee.”

“Who sent it?”

“It’s from Amazon.”

“I haven’t ordered anything.” Camille rose and walked to the table where Carrie had placed the box. She read the labels, but learned nothing beyond what Carrie had already said. “It isn’t Aimee’s birthday. I can’t imagine what this could be.”

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Dwayne asked, offering Camille his pocket knife. 

“I suppose so.” She carefully slit the tape and opened the box. A card said “For Aimee’s geography lessons” but had no signature. She pulled out the packing paper and saw that the outer box contained an inner box. She pulled out that box and held it up. “It’s a globe.”

“Why would someone send her a globe?” Dwayne did not think anything vaguely educational counted as a gift.

“It looks like a nice one,” said Fidel, who had joined them at the table. "I wonder how well we can see Saint Marie on it.”

“Of course!” Camille exclaimed. “Richard must have sent it. When he was here, we were trying to explain to Aimee how far away England is, and then he got onto seasons and said he couldn’t explain that without a globe. I think he said she should have one, but I never thought he’d buy one for her.”

Camille looked at her watch and added four hours. Richard would still be at work, so she sent a quick text. 

_Globe arrived. THANK YOU!_

Ten minutes later, her mobile buzzed. The text said _You’re welcome._

-o-o-o-o-

Aimee was delighted with her globe. At first, she entertained herself by making it spin.

“Why is it crooked?”

“What do you mean?”

“It isn’t straight. It leans.” Aimee gestured along the globe’s axis to show that it wasn’t straight up-and-down.

“That’s because Earth leans.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it just does.” To head off another “why” question, Camille said, “Let’s find Saint Marie.”

Camille silently blessed Richard for buying a globe large enough to actually show the islands of the Lesser Antilles, even if they weren’t all labeled. 

“See that little spot? That’s Saint Marie.”

“But it’s so small. Saint Marie isn’t that small.”

“No, but this is a model. It’s… um,” Camille tried to think of a way to explain scale. Then inspiration struck. “You know how you like to look at my ballerina figurine?”

“She’s beautiful,” said Aimee, gazing at the china figure on a shelf well above her reach.

“She looks like a girl, but she’s much smaller, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, a globe looks like Earth, but it’s much much smaller. So if the globe shows Earth smaller than it is, it has to show Saint Marie smaller than it is.”

“Oh.” Aimee went back to spinning the globe. After a minute, she asked. “Why doesn’t the water fall off?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I come out of the pool and shake my head, the water flies off. So why doesn’t the water fly off when the Earth spins?”

“Gravity holds it in place.”

“What’s gravity?”

“Gravity is how Earth holds things onto it. Gravity is a kind of, um, a pull. It pulls on things.”

“Why?”

Camille desperately tried to remember her science classes and then find a way to explain it at a three-year-old’s level. She defaulted to “I don’t know, it just does.”

“But why?”

“So things won’t fall off. So you stay here with me instead of flying away.” Camille hugged Aimee tightly. “Gravity is going to keep us here together, and that’s a good thing. Now, how about some supper?”

Aimee gave the globe one more spin and then skipped toward the kitchen, geography and Earth science temporarily forgotten.

-o-o-o-o-

A week later, Richard tossed the post onto the kitchen table and rooted through the fridge for the makings of supper. Once he had the potatoes boiling and the bangers in a pan, he opened a beer and sat down to see what sort of rubbish the postman had delivered that day. Save the whales and adopt a donkey went into the box for recycling. National Trust membership renewal and phone bill he set aside. There was one more item, which appeared to be a greeting card. He looked at the front and saw it was from Camille.

> Dear Richard,  
>  Thank you for sending the globe. Aimee is fascinated by it! She drew this picture of it for you. The arrows show where Saint Marie and London are. Well, where they’re supposed to be, anyhow.  
>  It was a very thoughtful gift, but it has caused problems. For this first time in three years, I’m finding parenthood scary! When she was an infant, I was terrified that I’d drop her or do something wrong and hurt her. Thank God I had Maman and Juliet to reassure me. Now I realize that I’m going to have to help her with homework someday. I’ve already had to reach back in my memory for geography lessons and Earth science and physics. I found myself trying to explain gravity to a three-year old! Why does Earth have gravity? I just went with the old “because it does” line. I’m sure you could have explained it better.  
>  But what am I going to do when her schoolwork gets beyond what I can remember? Expect a lot of phone calls when I get out of my depth, which—let’s be honest—is pretty shallow.  
>  Inadequately yours,  
>  Camille  
> 

Richard smiled and glanced at his watch. Minus four hours, no she’d still be at work. He checked on the progress of his supper, then looked again at Aimee’s drawing. He started to take it to his desk, to put it with the picture of pink flowers, but then he changed his mind.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille picked up her glass of water and walked toward the patio. As she passed the globe, she gave it a spin and watched England go by again and again. Every time she looked at the globe, she willed England and Saint Marie to move closer together, but they never did. 

Camille sat on one of the sunloungers and looked up at the stars. Today’s globe discussion had been about why the stars weren’t attached to the globe and why hadn’t gravity pulled the stars down to Earth. It was getting exhausting. Camille was proud of Aimee’s curiosity and active mind, but she was intimidated by the responsibility of explaining things well. Was three too young to have a pony? A kitten? Something to distract Aimee from the endless globe questions. Camille’s mobile rang and she frowned. Not now, please no new case now. She answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Abbot.”

_“Earth has gravity because it has mass. Anything that has mass exerts an attractive force on anything else that has mass. We call that attraction gravitational force.”_

“Richard! Hello! So why does mass cause gravity?”

_“You aren’t going to like the answer.”_

"Why not?"

_“Because the answer is, because it does.”_

“No, I like that answer. It’s the one I used as an escape. Who knew I’d turn out to be right!”

_“I knew. I have great faith in your parenting skills, Camille. You’re an intelligent, educated woman. You’ll be fine. But if you do find you need some help, I’m happy to be a homework coach.”_

“I’m glad you called. It’s late. Is everything all right?”

_“Everything is fine. I didn’t want to call while you were at work or busy with supper. Please thank Aimee for her drawing. Tell her I have it stuck to my fridge. It’s a nice change from takeaway menus and a reminder of a dentist appointment.”_

“I’ll tell her. Oh, God, then she’ll want to know about how magnets work!”

_“Magnetic force is another fundamental force. And like gravitational force, it’s a non-contact force, meaning it can act between objects even if they aren’t touching—”_

“RICHARD! Please, my head is going to explode!”

_“Sorry. Pedantic, I know.”_

“Don’t apologize. It’s just that it’s been a long day. I hate testimony prep.” 

_“I know what you mean. It’s tedious. So I’ll let you go and relax. Thank you again for the note and the picture. Goodnight, Camille.”_

“Goodnight, Richard.” Camille ended the call and wondered what his kitchen looked like. Undoubtedly tidy, workspace clean and clear. But it sounded lonely, somehow, with takeaway menus and a drawing made by someone else’s child on his fridge. 

-o-o-o-o-

About a week later, Camille was surprised to receive a postcard from London. It was addressed to Aimee.

> Dear Aimee,  
>  I don’t draw very well, so I am sending you a photo instead. This is what London looks like. We don’t have an ocean, but we have a river with lots of bridges.  
>  Richard  
> 

-o-o-o-o-

Richard stuck the drawing of a beach scene on his fridge and wrote another postcard.

> Dear Aimee,  
>  This clock is very big. It has a bell called Big Ben that helps tell the time. The bell rings once for every hour.  
>  Richard  
> 

-o-o-o-o-

Camille sipped her early-morning coffee and looked at the refrigerator. Aimee’s artwork adorned the upper freezer section, but the lower fridge door was now reserved for the collection of postcards from Richard. Aimee was very proud that she was receiving mail, and she delighted in rearranging the cards. Right now, the Queen was flanked by a Tower of London Beefeater on one side and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge on the other side. Below that grouping were an aerial view of the Thames, Big Ben, the London Eye, and a double-decker bus. 

The only card that hadn’t made it to the fridge door was the picture of beans on toast. After Richard sent that one, Aimee had begged to try it. So Camille bought a can of beans and prepared a special “Richard” meal. Aimee ate a little of it, then said she didn’t like it and asked why people ate something so yucky. After that, Camille begged Richard not to send pictures of food, as she had no idea how she could ever track down clotted cream.

Camille smiled. It was a strange sort of correspondence. Richard sent postcards to Aimee, and Camille wrote notes to accompany the drawings Aimee made for Richard. But it kept them communicating, and that was the important thing.


	10. Losing Touch

Camille and Richard settled into a long-distance friendship. Postcards for Aimee, notes and drawings for Richard. Emails between Camille and Richard. Her emails contained stories about her team and descriptions of cases. His emails discussed his cases, and also included advice on her cases, but only when she asked for it. Once in a while she would rant about her mother or the Commissioner. When that happened, he would phone her and try to be supportive. He had somehow developed a knack for being soothing without being condescending. 

But now Camille was worried. It had been more than a week since she had heard from Richard. They often went a few days between emails, but this was a longer interval than usual. Aimee was disappointed that there had been no postcard last week. Richard hadn’t answered when Camille called his mobile, and he hadn’t replied to her text or email. 

She didn’t want to call from the station. Dwayne had accepted that she was happy, so he wasn’t hovering. Catherine still had reservations about her daughter’s long-distance relationship, but in the interest of peace in the family, refrained from commenting. If Camille called from the station, Dwayne would know she was worried, which would make him worry—and then he would tell Catherine.

So Camille tried calling from home before leaving for work. She called Richard’s mobile again, and again got voice mail. She tried his home phone, but got only the answer machine. She finally tried to call him at Bow Street. 

A sergeant answered his line and said that DCI Poole was not at work that day. She would not tell Camille any more than that, even when Camille explained who she was. Finally, Camille asked to speak to their Superintendent. 

Superintendent Gordon recognized Chief Abbot’s name and explained that Richard was in hospital after an accident. Privacy rules forbade Gordon from giving Camille much information, but he was able to tell her that Richard was not in critical condition or at death’s door. He did give her the name of the hospital and suggested she call them.

The hospital, of course, gave Camille even less information than Gordon had. No, they could not discuss Mr. Poole’s condition. No, they could not give him a message. No, he could not talk on the phone. He was resting and was not to be disturbed.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille dropped Aimee off at preschool and headed for the station. She’d told Aimee that Richard didn’t forget about her, but was very busy at the moment. Aimee accepted this, but Camille had a bad feeling about Richard. She smiled when she thought of the number of cases where she’d said she had a feeling about something and he had spouted a lecture about evidence and facts outweighing feelings. Still, she believed in her instincts, and right now they were telling her that Richard’s condition was worse than she had been told.

Work kept her distracted for a while, but when Fidel left to interview a witness and Dwayne went to patrol the market, Camille spent some time on the Internet. Carrie noticed that her boss seemed agitated, but was smart enough to know that this was not a good time to be asking questions.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille took advantage of the mid-afternoon lull at La Kaz to talk to her mother.

“Of course I’ll take care of Aimee. You don’t take enough time off from work. Where are you going on such short notice?”

“London. My flight leaves tonight.”

“Oh, Camille,” Catherine sighed in exasperation. “This is not good for you.”

“I have to go. Richard was in some sort of accident and he’s in hospital.”

“I’m sure he is receiving good care. Why do you have to go?”

“Because nobody will tell me any details. His boss says he isn’t in critical condition, but I have a feeling something is worse than they’re telling me and I need to see him, to know for certain what’s going on.”

“Why don’t you call him?”

“I’ve tried. He doesn’t answer his mobile and the hospital wouldn’t let me talk to him. Maman, I’m not going to argue about this. I’m going. Please, just take care of Aimee for me.”

“And what are you going to tell her?”

“The truth. Our friend Richard is ill and I’m going to visit him.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille stepped off the elevator and walked up to the desk. “I’m here to see Richard Poole.”

“And you are?” said the guardian of the desk.

“I’m a friend, Camille Abbott.”

“I’m afraid it’s only family who can visit.”

“He hasn’t got much family. Have they been here?”

“I don’t know. We don’t keep track of all visitors.”

“Does he have a visitor now?” Camille was becoming impatient.

“I don’t think so.”

“Is he conscious? Can you ask him if he’d like a visitor?”

“I can’t discuss his condition with you.”

Camille flashed her badge and said, “I am Detective Inspector Camille Abbott and I need to talk to him.”

“I thought you said you were a friend.”

“Friend and colleague. And I need to see him. Now.” Camille glared at the woman, hoping her cop-authoritative attitude would beat a nurse-authoritative attitude. 

“All right,” the nurse sighed. “Room 6211. But you can’t stay too long. The physio will be here soon.”

“Thank you.” Camille turned and walked down the hallway. She stopped at the door to Richard’s room. He was lying in bed, reading. She could tell from the pinched look on his face that he was in a lot of pain. She blinked back tears, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door frame.

“Hello?”

Richard closed his eyes. The painkillers must be affecting his mind. He could have sworn he heard Camille’s voice. 

“Richard? May I come in?”

He turned his head toward the doorway and couldn’t believe it. Damn, these meds were powerful.

“Richard?”

“Camille, I hope that’s you because if it isn’t, the drugs are frying my brain.”

“Of course it’s me. How are—stupid question, sorry.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting you. But if anyone asks, I was here on official business to ask about the accident. The nurse said family only so I said my visit was official.”

“But it can’t be. I mean, Saint Marie has no jurisdiction here.”

Camille smiled, “I flashed my badge pretty quickly.”

“You always did like to bend the rules. Do you let your team get away with that kind of behavoiur?”

“You know my team. What do you think?”

Richard smiled. “Yes, I do know your team. There hasn’t been a rule written that Dwayne couldn’t turn into a pretzel.”

“We get the job done. We learned from the best.” Camille walked to the bedside chair and sat down. “So what happened, exactly? Your superintendent only said you were in an accident.”

“On the job, I stopped a man from getting into his car. We wanted to question him about a murder. He opened the door suddenly, pushing me out into the street just as a delivery van was approaching. Smashed my leg. My left femur is in about a million pieces and my thigh muscles are badly torn.” Seeing Camille wince, he tried to make light of it by saying, “So there goes my chance with the Royal Ballet, then.”

“It isn’t funny, Richard,” said Camille, blinking rapidly.

“No. It isn’t. But I’d rather see you laugh than cry.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Tell me about Saint Marie. What’s going on? How is Aimee? You didn’t bring her, did you?”

“No, she is staying with Maman. But she sent you a picture.” Camille took a piece of paper out of her purse and handed it to Richard. The drawing showed something green and elongated with what might be legs. Above it, someone had written “Get Well Richard.”

Richard smiled and Camille said, “That’s supposed to be a lizard. Remember, you told her about Harry? I wrote the message and she went over it in crayon.”

“I’ll get one of the aides to tape it up on the wall. Tell Aimee thank you.”

“Do you want to tell her yourself? I haven’t called her yet.” Camille took out her mobile and placed the call. 

“Hello Maman. Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I’m visiting him now. Put Aimee on, please?”

While she waited for her daughter, Camille said to Richard, “Maman says hello and feel better.”

Camille smiled at the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Hello, darling! Are you being a good girl for Grandmère? Do you remember where I am?”

Pause.

“Yes, very good. And are you counting sleeps until I come home?”

Pause.

“That’s right. And you remember that I’m here to visit our friend Richard, right? He wants to say hello.”

Camille handed the phone to Richard, who said, “Hello? Aimee?”

Camille could hear the high voice chattering as Richard listened.

“Thank you for the picture. It’s a beautiful lizard. It’s making me feel better already.”

Pause.

“That would be lovely. I’m sure Grandmère will mail it for you.”

Pause.

“I’ll look for it, I promise. Listen, Sweetie, you know that I got hurt, right? I fell down and hurt my leg and the doctor says I have to stay in bed until it gets better. So I won’t be able to send you any postcards for a while. I don’t want you to be sad because you didn’t get any, okay?”

Pause

“I don’t know how long. But I can send you emails and Maman can read them to you, how about that? I’m going to give the phone back to Maman now, so I’ll say goodbye.”

Richard handed the mobile to Camille, who said, “Hey, baby. You be a good girl, and I’ll be home in five sleeps. I love you!”

Pause.

“Hugs and kisses to you, too. Bye.”

She turned back to Richard. “I probably should go. That nurse may be wondering why it’s taking me so long to ask you a few questions about your accident. I don’t know what excuse I’ll use tomorrow.”

“Just tell her you were wounded twice, have three commendations for bravery, and could take her in a fistfight. That speech cowed me.”

“I can’t believe you remember what I said!”

“You were very impressive,” Richard reached his hand out and Camille took it. He squeezed her hand and said, “You still are. And you could definitely take me in a fistfight now.”

He smiled that funny half-smile and Camille started to get teary again. She covered by saying, “I can’t believe I’m so jet-lagged.”

“Where are you staying?”

Camille named a hotel.

“That’s pretty expensive. Why don’t you stay at my flat?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m not using it, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. Lend me your mobile and I’ll call my neighbor, who has a key. Mrs. Barnes, a nice elderly lady. She’ll probably want to fill you with tea and biscuits and ask you a million questions, but she’s sweet, really.” Richard reached for the phone by his bedside and groaned. 

“What’s wrong? What can I do?”

“Nothing. The Marquis de Sade’s team are here.” 

“Now, Inspector, that isn’t nice. We have to keep your circulation going!” said a chipper young woman. Turning to Camille she said, “Hi, I’m Penny, from Physio. I’m sorry, but you’ll need to step out.”

“That’s all right, I was about to leave anyway.” She snap-pointed at Richard and said, “Be good and do your exercises! See you tomorrow.”


	11. Friends and Family

Mrs. Barnes was as expected. Very sweet and VERY curious. Yes, she had a key to Richard’s flat, and she’d gladly give it to Camille. But wouldn’t Camille like a cup of tea first? She must be tired after the long flight, and there’s nothing like a cup of tea to refresh you, now isn’t there?

Camille didn’t want tea (she was desperate for a cup of strong coffee), but she couldn’t bring herself to say no. So over surprisingly refreshing tea and some homemade biscuits, she found herself telling the woman about Richard’s time in the tropics.

“And he insisted on wearing a suit every day, in that hot weather!”

“He is very proper,” Mrs. Barnes nodded. “It’s one of the things I like about him. So polite, and a quiet neighbor. His mother is lovely, too. Have you met her?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“She was here the first few days, but then she had to go home. You can tell where Inspector Poole gets his good manners. Parents today don’t teach their children any sort of manners.”

Camille smiled, “It can be a struggle.”

“Oh, do you have children?” Mrs. Barnes not-so-subtly glanced at Camille’s left hand.

“Yes, I have a small daughter. Her father and I are divorced.” Camille figured she may as well explain that rather than have the older woman think she was an unwed mother and be shocked at Richard having such a loose woman as an acquaintance. She took out a photograph and handed it to Mrs. Barnes.

“Isn’t she adorable! Oh, it must be difficult raising a child alone.”

“I have help. My mother lives nearby and I have wonderful friends, especially a young mother of two whose advice has saved me from many moments of panic.”

Mrs. Barnes launched into a discussion of her children and grandchildren. After several minutes, she stopped abruptly.

“Oh, do forgive me, my dear! Here I am chatting away and you must be exhausted from your travels. So go get yourself settled in. And remember that I’m right here if you need me.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille set her suitcase down and looked around Richard’s flat. It was very plain. White walls, beige furniture. It could have been anyone’s flat but for the books. Shelves and shelves of books! Now, _that_ was Richard. She could imagine him purchasing furniture without thought to style, only comfort and utility. But the books were obviously important. She scanned the titles and could see that they were organized by subject. History occupied the most shelves, but science was well represented, too. So was literature. She smiled when she recalled that he considered “the classics” to be only English literature. But he had broadened his horizons with Hugo and Dumas and a few other French authors. 

A large desk in a corner held his laptop and a stack of books. And, was that…? Yes, the stack of papers was a collection of Aimee’s drawings. She picked them up and leafed through them. Goodness, had she really sent so many? Camille smiled when she noticed that he had written a date on the back of each one. The most recent one was several weeks old. She walked into the kitchen and saw that there were more drawings on the fridge, as he had said. She could imagine him carefully replacing the oldest one on the fridge with the latest offering, much as Aimee had a special spot for her most recent postcard.

Camille checked the contents of the fridge. Apparently, Mrs. Poole had cleared it, as there was nothing perishable left. Camille explored cupboards and made a mental shopping list. Once the list got beyond six items, she found paper and pen and wrote out the list. She contemplated asking Mrs. Barnes about grocery stores, but decided that a little exploration would be a better idea. 

-o-o-o-o-

Camille finished putting away the groceries and surveyed the worktop in Richard’s kitchen. He would probably complain about clutter, but what was the point of putting away the electric kettle when you would only need it again soon? And really, a French press and coffee grinder were necessities, not clutter. 

She frowned. Maybe she shouldn’t have bought the coffee things. Did it look too much as if she was trying to move in, make the place hers? But the cafe she’d found was so delightful, she couldn’t resist. So many wonderful coffees in their shop. And teas. She would ask Richard what his favorite kind was and buy some for him as a treat. And possibly a nice china teapot. No, that would be too much. For all she knew, the plain round pot was a favorite and he’d be hurt if he thought she didn’t like it.

Suddenly, Camille felt foolish. What was she going to do with her time while she was here? She probably wasn’t going to be allowed to spend it sitting by Richard’s bedside. She’d flown all this way on some sort of Florence Nightingale mission. Her mother was right. It was an impulsive thing to do. On the other hand, Richard did seem pleased to see her. She should have asked him if there was anything she could take to him. That would give her an excuse to go back. A book? But how could she know which one he’d want? 

Camille started to look at titles on the shelves, then remembered the stack of books on the desk. They were probably books he was currently reading. She picked up the first one, a book on the Civil War. No. The next one was on the Industrial Revolution. Maybe. The third one made her gasp. A book on child development? So that was how he had learned to write the messages in a way that Aimee could understand. Camille was touched at his effort to know and understand her child. She looked at the table of contents and laughed when she saw a chapter titled “Dealing with WHY.” She took the book to the sofa and sat down to read.

-o-o-o-o-

Although it was only 6 PM Saint-Marie time, Camille decided to get ready for bed. If she went to bed on a London schedule, she might wake up at an appropriate local time. After a warm shower, she felt relaxed enough to fall asleep. Then it struck her that she was going to sleep in Richard’s bed. She generally preferred to sleep naked, but here it felt wrong somehow, when she knew that Richard did not. Of course, it really didn’t matter, since he wasn’t there. 

But as if somehow he would know, she felt shy and pulled out the nightgown she always packed “just in case.” She looked at the bed. Did he prefer one side over the other? Or did he sleep in the middle? She shook her head. This was ridiculous, he wasn’t even there! She got into bed (on the side she usually slept on at home), picked up her mobile and phoned Aimee to say goodnight.

-o-o-o-o-

AT 7 AM, Camille woke to the sound of a rooster crowing. She sat up in bed and looked around for her mobile. She turned off the alarm and looked at the time. She was tempted to go back to sleep, but she was determined to function on local time. She stretched, got up, and thought about getting dressed. At home, she always dressed right away. Here, she was all alone, no Aimee to deal with, so she decided to lounge a bit. And she knew just what to wear.

While Camille waited for the coffee to be ready, she made toast. She took a mug and plate from a cupboard. Like the furniture, Richard’s dishes were plain and utilitarian. She hadn’t expected Limoges or Wedgewood with hand-painted rosebuds, but she’d hoped for something that would tell her more about the man and how he lived. Simply. No fuss, no frills. Domestic details were unimportant. She pulled the collar of the robe closer. She could smell the soap he used. She hadn’t used it, preferring to use the soap she’d brought from home. When he wore it next, would he be able to smell her soap? 

She smiled at her own behaviour. Last night, she’d felt shy at the thought of sleeping naked in his bed. But this morning, it felt perfectly natural to wear his bathrobe. Mustn’t settle in too much, she reminded herself. She’d be going home in less than a week. 

Camille dawdled over breakfast, reading more of the child development book. As she washed the dishes, she sang softly to herself. She thought she heard someone unlock the door. Did anyone else have a key? Had she remembered the chain last night?

-o-o-o-o-

Ruth turned the knob, but the door opened only a few centimeters. The chain was on and she could hear someone singing. But how was that possible? Richard wasn’t home. She reached into her purse for her mobile to dial 999. 

“Who’s there?” came an accented voice from behind the door. “Mrs. Barnes, is that you?”

Ruth was confused. Richard hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend. But this had to be someone who knew Richard, or she wouldn’t also know Mrs. Barnes. 

“No. It’s Ruth Poole. Who are you?”

“Omigod! You’re Richard’s mother! I am so sorry, let me open the door!” 

Ruth stared at the woman in Richard’s apartment. The woman stood there, barefoot, and wearing Richard’s robe. What was she doing here?

“You’re Camille?”

“Yes. Please come in.”

“But you live on Saint Marie.”

“Yes, I do. I came here to see Richard. I’ve startled you, I’m sorry. Come sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“I’d prefer coffee, but I used the last of the instant when I was here before.”

“I have coffee. I went shopping yesterday.” 

Ruth followed Camille into the kitchen and watched as she ground coffee and heated water for the coffee press.

“You’re serious about coffee,” Ruth said.

“Yes. I drink tea once in a while, but I like coffee, especially made this way. I suppose it’s because I’m half French.”

Ruth smiled, “Richard says there’s no such thing as being—”

“Half French!” Camille finished the sentence for her and they both laughed.

“He talks about you quite a lot. The others, too, but mostly you. And your daughter. He’s quite smitten with her.” Ruth paused and added, “And with you.”

Camille shook her head, “I wish. But he sees me as a friend, that’s all.”

“That’s all he lets you see, Camille. But there’s more, a mother can tell. The problem is he’s afraid of being hurt. He’s had a lonely life. I wonder sometimes if we did the right thing sending him away to school. He was so bright, and we wanted the best for him. He thought we were sending him away because we didn’t want him or didn’t love him. But of course we love him. And we’re proud of him.”

“You need to tell him that.”

“I do. But somehow he got this notion that he wasn’t loveable. Or not worth loving. It has made him shy. He doesn’t make friends easily.”

“I know. It took us ages to convince him to come for a drink after work. But we did become friends. We were sorry when he was transferred back to London. I missed him so much. But he didn’t stay in touch. If he hadn’t been sent to Saint Marie on a case, I’d never have heard from him again.”

“I’m glad you stayed in touch this time. I think it’s been good for him. His father says he’s torturing himself with something he can’t have.”

“Maman tells me the same thing.”

“I suppose I’m a romantic, but I think it’s sweet.” Ruth reached across the table and rested her hand on Camille’s. “Don’t give up on him. I know it isn’t ideal, being so far apart. But you’re so very special to him.”

“So you don’t think I was foolish to come here when I heard about the accident?”

“It shows how much you care, and that’s important.”

“The hospital said family only. I had to flash my badge to get in.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you stopped at the Gorgon’s desk! We’ll go directly to his room. If they stop us, I’ll just tell them that you’re with me. I’ll wash up while you get dressed and then we’ll go.”

“Oh!” Camille suddenly remembered what she was wearing. “I, um, I’m wearing this because I didn’t bring a robe with me. I usually get dressed first thing, but I felt lazy this morning, so…”

Ruth smiled, “Don’t be embarrassed. I understand. When my husband travels on business, I sometimes wear his robe.”

-o-o-o-o-

As she said, Ruth walked directly to Richard’s room and nobody challenged them. 

“Good morning, Darling!”

“Mum!” Richard looked up from his book. “And Camille. You two, um, you came here together?”

“Yes. I stopped at your flat this morning and I met Camille. We had a lovely chat over some delicious coffee.” Ruth bent to kiss her son’s cheek.

“Lovely chat?” he managed to squeak.

“Yes,” Camille said. “Very interesting. We discovered that we have a lot in common.”

Richard looked doubtful.

“Yes, Darling,” said Ruth. She winked at Camille and said, “For example, we both like coffee and bathrobes.”

“I must ask the nurse if they’ve increased my meds,” said Richard. “Because I am not following this conversation at all well.”

“Never mind, Richard. Camille and I know what I meant. Now, I have a mobile for you. Yours was beyond repair, but Dad was able to get the little card thingy out of it. He put the card in his old mobile. He didn’t want to get a new one for you because people steal things from patients and an old phone isn’t tempting.”

“Thanks, Mum. And thank Dad for me.”

“You can call him after we go. He says your phone book appears to be all there.”

They visited for a while, then the dreaded physio showed up and visitors had to leave.

Ruth bent to kiss Richard’s cheek. She whispered, “She’s delightful. Don’t lose her!”

As Ruth left the room, Camille turned back to Richard. She put her hand on her heart and mouthed, “I LOVE your mother!”

Imagining some sort of unholy alliance, Richard groaned.

The physio frowned, “Honestly, Inspector, we haven’t even started yet!”


	12. Girl Talk

“Shall we have lunch?” Ruth asked Camille. “I don’t know what sort of food you prefer. I don’t know of any restaurants that serve Caribbean food.”

“That’s all right. I’ll eat just about anything.”

“Richard complained so much about the food that I thought Caribbean food must be very strange. Then I remembered it was Richard I was talking to. He is too wary of new things.”

“Was he always a picky eater?”

“You can imagine that boarding school food is quite bland. And I am not a gourmet cook by any standard. So he grew up on very plain food. It’s what he knows. It’s what he sees as safe. Perhaps if we’d exposed him to a wider variety of food, but his father’s taste is also for plain food, so that’s what we ate.”

“I encourage Aimee to try different foods. She likes a nice variety of things, although she has a tendency to develop strong favorites for short periods of time. For a while it was bananas. She wanted bananas at every meal. Then bananas were out and mangoes were in. After Richard sent her a picture of beans on toast, she was eager to try that. And then she didn’t like it.”

“Well, she isn’t English, so I suppose that’s all right. I believe there’s a law that English children must like beans on toast.”

Camille smiled, “I think I see where Richard got that dry sense of humour. He said the oddest things sometimes. Well, odd to me. I would have to ask for an explanation. Once, a postulant was murdered in the convent. At first it seemed to be an accident, a fire started by smoking in bed. When I told Richard this, he said, ‘Ah, yes, the proverbial smoking nun.’ I didn’t—Ruth, are you all right.”

Coughing, Ruth nodded, then managed to say, “I was in the middle of a swallow of water when you said that. It does sound like him.”

“It must be English humour. My sense of humour tends to be silly, which would make him roll his eyes or answer with something sarcastic. For a long time, I had trouble telling the difference between when he was trying to be funny and when he was being sarcastic.”

“It’s nice that you still have things to figure out about each other.”

“That’s the kind of thing you have to be there for. And I don’t know…” Camille trailed off and shrugged.

“Don’t give up, Camille. If you think he’s starting to give up, you let me know and I’ll give him a kick in the backside. You’re good for him. I could see it today while we were visiting. Aimee is good for him, too. I noticed the picture on the wall of his hospital room. A year ago, Richard would never have anything personal like that on display. He has kept all of her drawings, you know.” 

“Yes. I saw them on his desk. She loves to draw, especially things that are bright colors. She wants a camera, but I think she’s still a bit young. I’ll have to find something sturdy.”

“Ask Richard to do some online research for you while he’s stuck in bed.”

“No, I don’t want to do that. I’m afraid that if he finds something good, he’ll buy it for her. Did he tell you about the globe?”

“No.”

“When he was on Saint Marie, he was trying to explain where London is, and said he really needed a globe to do a good explanation. He said that Amy should have one. A few weeks later, a beautiful globe arrived. It was kind of Richard to do that, but I don’t want him to think he has to shower her with gifts to get her to like him. The postcards are—do you know about the postcards?”

“Yes, I—oh no! I was supposed to get some postcards for him. Just before I left last time, he asked me to buy a few cards and some stamps. I have the stamps, and I was planning on buying the cards on the way to the hospital.”

“That’s my fault for distracting you this morning. I’ll get some cards.”

“Thank you, dear. Now, I must be going, or I’ll miss my train. I am so happy that I had a chance to meet you! Don’t spend all your time visiting Richard. See some of London, some of his world. I think you understand him very well, but that might add to it.”

The two women embraced and promised to stay in touch. Ruth headed to the train station and Camille returned to the hospital.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard looked up from his book when Camille arrived.

“Where’s Mum?”

“She’s probably on the train by now. We had a very nice lunch together.”

Richard leaned his head back against the pillow and covered his eyes. “I suppose that means you know every secret from my childhood?”

“Mothers like to share stories about their children, Richard.”

“Oh, God.”

“Nothing bad. Nothing anyone could use against you, not that I would. She’s funny. I told her about the smoking nun comment, and she laughed without me having to explain it. She’s wonderful, Richard. You know I love Maman, but I could easily be convinced to take your mother as a substitute.” _Or as a second mother,_ she added silently.

-o-o-o-o-

That evening, Camille phoned Catherine and talked to Aimee. Aimee did most of the talking. One of the parents had brought the family’s new puppy to preschool for the children to see. Aimee thought the puppy was the cutest thing EVER and wanted one. Camille avoided giving a direct answer by saying they would discuss it when Aimee was older. Then she asked to speak to Catherine.

“Maman, do not even think of getting a puppy for her.”

“Of course not, ma chère. It’s a responsibility you don’t need to add to your life. Your life is complicated enough at the moment.”

“Maman…” Camille said wearily.

“Well, it is. You’ve got Aimee and your job and you don’t need distractions and stress. I remember how you were five years ago.”

“Maman, it’s different now. Whatever happens, we’ll stay in touch and be friends.”

“Friends? Is that what you want, Camille?”

“No. Of course I want more. But what we have is better than nothing. And we can visit.”

“I don’t think he’d want to come here. And even if he did, a week at a time isn’t much of a relationship.”

“Hmm?” Camille had stopped listening. She turned on her laptop and said, “I have to go now, Maman. I love you!”

“Love you, too, Camille. Bye.”

“Bye.” Camille ended the call and set down the phone. She opened her browser and started searching.


	13. More Visits

Richard fidgeted with his father’s old mobile. It was a not-very-smart phone. It handled calls and texts and took very low-resolution pictures. No internet capability meant it was of limited use. He had turned it on the previous day after Camille and his mother left. He dutifully called to thank his father for the replacement phone. He left it to his mother to tell about Camille’s visit. His father was right, of course. But Camille’s visit was like a ray of Caribbean sunshine, and Richard was willing to take it for what it was, enjoy it while it lasted.

His father was right about the phone, too. The stored contact information on the SIM card was all there. And so was the picture from Saint Marie. Richard couldn’t enlarge it, but even a small picture was nice to look at, especially since a certain someone hadn’t visited this morning.

He looked at the text Camille had sent that morning. _AM at museum cu after lunch_ Richard had nothing to look forward to except reading. Before Camille arrived in London, Richard had enjoyed the quiet and a good book. Now he missed her chatter and laughter. He tried to convince himself it was because of the tedium of being stuck in the hospital. 

“Good morning, Inspector,” Penny the physio walked into the room and looked around. “No visitors this morning?”

“No.”

“Well, then, let’s get started.” Penny smiled. Usually the Inspector was grumpy in anticipation of pain from the exercises. But this morning, the frown seemed to be more related to the absence of company.

When they were finished, Penny complimented Richard on his progress. “You worked harder at this than you have before.”

“You did tell me that getting my strength and mobility back would be my ticket out of here.”

“Out of here does not mean going home, you know that, right?”

“Yes,” Richard sighed. “But I’m hopeful that a rehab facility will be, um, less confining.”

“You’re bored?”

“A little, yes.”

“That’s a good sign. It means you’re getting better. They’ve reduced your meds and you’re tolerating the pain well. I think your doctor may clear you to go to our torture chamber for further exercises and get you ready for the rehab.”

“Torture chamber?” Richard looked alarmed.

“Well, Inspector, if you’re going to call me the Marquis de Sade, I suppose I should call our exercise room the torture chamber.” Penny grinned as she left the room. Over her shoulder, she added, “Must dash. More people to inflict pain on!”

-o-o-o-o-

Shortly after lunch, Richard had a new visitor, Superintendent Gordon. Gordon had visited shortly after the accident, but not again until today.

“I’m supposed to check on you to make sure you aren’t malingering.” Seeing Richard’s incredulous look, Gordon added, “A technicality, obviously. And also to deliver this.”

Richard looked into the gift bag Gordon handed him and saw the familiar red tin. Shortbread! He opened the card that was in the bag and laughed. It showed a man in a full-body cast and it said “Having fun yet?” All the detectives at the station had signed it, with some adding additional funny comments. 

“Thank you,” said Richard. “And please thank the team. The shortbread will be a welcome break from the bland custards around here.”

Gordon stood the card on the bedside table and noticed Aimee’s picture of Harry on the wall. “What’s this?”

“A friend’s daughter drew it for me.”

“What is it supposed to be?”

“It’s a lizard. When I was on Saint-Marie, there was a lizard that hung around my house. I told Aimee about him and she drew his picture for me.”

“So this Aimee is an impressionist?”

“No, she’s only three.”

“And a half,” added a voice from the doorway.

Both men turned to look at Camille. Gordon was impressed. Who was this stunning woman?

Richard made the introductions, “Camille, this is my boss, Superintendent Gordon. Gov, this is Chief Abbot from Saint-Marie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Chief Abbot. I hear you’re the first local to be chief, so congratulations.”

“Thank you. I probably wouldn’t have been given the station if I hadn’t had Richard as a model to follow.”

“Do you still use an old-fashioned white board?”

“We do. The big advance last year was a larger one.” Camille smiled at Richard and said, “You would love it.”

“I’m sure he would,” Gordon smiled. “Do you know he has his own personal white board over his desk? We have a computerized big-screen, but he still likes to scribble on a white board.” 

“And does he keep his own set of markers away from everyone else?”

Richard held up his hand and waved it, “I am still here, you know.”

“Of course you are,” Camille replied. “I’m sorry. But I still remember the look of horror on your face the first time I used one of your markers.”

“Considering how quickly you broke it, I was right to be worried.”

Gordon watched the banter with amusement. He’d seen Richard’s file and knew that he hadn’t fitted in well at Croyden. The Inspector did get along well with his current set of colleagues, and joined in the banter from time to time. But there was a connection between these two and a level of relaxation that he hadn’t seen in Richard before. Very interesting. And even more interesting was the fact that the Chief of Honoré police had flown all this way to visit DCI Poole in hospital. 

“Some of us are not on sick leave or holiday, so I’ll be returning to the station.”

“Thank you for stopping by, sir. Say hello to everyone for me.” 

Gordon left, eager to tell the team about Poole’s visitor. The team photo Poole had shown them didn’t do justice to the lady.

After his boss left, Richard asked Camille about her sightseeing.

“I spent the morning at the British Museum. I know you can’t see an entire museum in one visit, so I chose a few things to see. I went to see the mummies. Egypt has always fascinated me. Did you know they have animal mummies? A snake, a crocodile, even a cat.”

“Good use for a cat.”

“Richard! That isn’t nice.”

“I don’t like cats. They skulk about hunting things. Dogs are more honest. They chase after their prey, they don’t sneak up on it.”

“It was a very nice mummy, with elegant wrappings. And it was sitting proud and tall. Egyptians worshipped cats, you know.”

“What else did you see?”

“I saw the pills. Do you know about them? It’s an interesting exhibit about medicine. A long, long case with a kind of mesh that holds pills. The idea is that it’s a lifetime of pills. There’s one for a woman and one for a man. There are antibiotics for infections, she has birth control pills, one of them has chemo, and there are pain relievers for an injury of some kind. I don’t remember the details, but when you look at it, you realize how much modern medicine can do for us. Think about your injury. A hundred years ago, your doctor wouldn’t have been able to use a rod to align the broken bone in your leg. Maybe not even fifty years ago.”

“That’s true. And, much as I hate the physio work, modern rehabilitation techniques do get people moving faster.”

“Speaking of therapies, I found something you should try.”

“We don’t practice voodoo in British hospitals, Camille.”

“I’m not talking about voodoo, Richard. It’s something you can try on your own. If you think about using your muscles, think about walking, it will help to strengthen your muscles.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes, really! Visualize yourself walking. Thinking about it will do something to pathways in the brain.” Camille faltered and added, “Or something like that.”

“La di DA, di DA, di DA, di DA. LA di da. LA di da.” Richard sang Beethoven's Minuet in G. Badly.

“What is that?”

“It’s the Think System.” Seeing Camille’s blank look he added, “Harold Hill? The Music Man?”

“Oh, the movie about the con man. I get it. But this isn’t fake.”

“Camille, do you honestly expect that if I think about walking I can simply spring from the bed and stride across the room?”

“No! But it will help the muscles get stronger.”

“Oh please, this is right up there with voodoo and holy wells.”

“There was a study at a university somewhere. I saw it online.”

“Camille, you do know that not everything you read on the Internet is true, don’t you?”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to try. Really, Richard, you can be so…” she broke off and looked at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Us. I’m reminded of the arguments we used to have. Your eagerness to arrest people on a hunch instead of evidence.”

“Your nasty comments about Maman’s soup.”

“Your willingness to believe in anything, including voodoo curses.”

“Speaking of voodoo, what happened to you dancing naked around a fire? You never came through on that offer.”

“Well, I’m not in any condition to do that now.”

They had been laughing as they bantered, but the mood changed instantly. 

“Oh, Richard,” said Camille. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s all right, Camille. I’m already aware that my condition may force changes in my life. It all depends on how well I recover.”

“You’ll be able to walk. They rebuilt your femur, and the muscles will heal.”

“Yes, I’ll walk, but possibly not well. It’s going to be months of therapy and exercise.”

“Where?”

“At some kind of care facility. My doctor is supposed to discuss it with me tomorrow or the next day, help me connect with a place that offers the treatment I need.”

“And visualization therapy.”

“You never give up, to you?”

Camille smiled wistfully and said, “No. I never do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There really was a study about visualizing movement as a way to keep immobilized muscles from losing strength. It appears to help. I read about it a week or two ago, and had to work it into the story.


	14. Laptops and Lapsang

Camille stretched and looked at the clock. Should she roll over and go back to sleep, or should she get up? Richard’s bed was wonderfully comfortable, and she’d slept well now that she’d returned to her usual sleeping habits. Her mobile buzzed, and she reached out for it. The text was from Richard. _Please bring my laptop and charger with you today._

Camille hadn’t noticed a computer anywhere. She had resisted the temptation to poke around in his desk or dresser. She had even respected his privacy when she hung clothes in his closet. She’d moved some suits just enough to give herself a bit of space. He’d trusted her to stay in his apartment and, knowing what a private person he was, she’d suppressed her natural tendency to be nosy. 

Camille looked around the living room. She didn’t see the computer. The desk was the most likely place. She reached for the top drawer, then stopped. She felt she needed permission before she could search.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard frowned at the tray in front of him. Hospital food was boring. Breakfast choices were especially limited. He was tired of scrambled eggs. Oh, what he would give to have black pudding! And decent marmalade. The jams provided by the hospital were low-sugar and had that funny fake-sugar taste. He picked up his fork and was about to attack the eggs when his phone buzzed. Camille’s message said _Can u call me?_

-o-o-o-o-

Camille had just poured water into the French press when her phone range. 

“Richard?”

_“Of course I can call you. I press the little buttons and the call goes through. My hands weren’t injured.”_

Camille rolled her eyes and suppressed a sigh. “I meant are you allowed to make calls.”

_“Then you should have asked ‘may I call you?’ May, not can. May is about permission, while can—”_

“Richard!”

_“What?”_

“I haven’t had coffee yet. I don’t need a lecture. I need to know where your laptop is.”

_“It should be on my desk.”_

“It isn’t there.”

_“Mum must have put it somewhere safe. Did you look in the desk?”_

“No. I wanted to ask you if I _may_ look in your desk.”

_“You didn’t ask permission when you searched my house.”_

“When did I do that?”

_“When you were undercover.”_

“That was ages ago. And it wasn’t your house then. I thought of it as still being Charlie Hulme’s house. I can’t believe you brought that up. Why are you so grumpy this morning?”

_“I’m tired of being here. I’m tired of this room, I’m tired of the food, I’m tired of not being able to get up and walk around without help. I’m tired of lying around like a lump of uselessness.”_

“I understand. I’d feel the same way. So is it okay if I look in your desk?”

_“Yes. The charger is usually in the top-right drawer.”_

“Got it.” Camille opened the center drawer. “Got the computer, too. It was in the center drawer. Do you need anything else?”

_“Not that I’m allowed to have. I’d love a beer.”_

“Not with pain meds, Richard.”

_“I know.”_

“I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

-o-o-o-o-

When Camille arrived at the hospital, Richard was not in his room. She turned back toward the door and waved to a nurse.

“Excuse me, where is Inspector Poole?”

“He’s gone to physio. He should be back soon.”

While she waited, Camille took out her mobile and checked email again. No new messages. She sent a brief message to her mother for Aimee, then opened the book she had on her reader. She looked up when Richard was rolled into the room in a wheelchair.

“Oh, good, you’re here!” he said cheerfully.

“Your mood has improved,” Camille said.

“It’s like a runner’s high.”

The orderly pushing the wheelchair grinned. “Five minutes on crutches at a snail’s pace, and he’s got a runner’s high.”

“Hey,” Richard replied. “It’s more activity than I’ve had in weeks. And I’m even wearing clothes!”

“So I see,” said Camille, looking at his outfit of t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms with one leg cut short. “Very stylish.”

“Better than a hospital gown,” said Richard, as the orderly helped him back into bed.

“I’m glad you’re feeling so much better. I was worried about you. I stopped on the way to get a treat for you.” Camille pulled a small box from her purse. “I know it isn’t loose, but it’s probably better than hospital tea.”

Richard accepted the box. “Lapsang souchong! How did you know?”

“I saw the tin in a cupboard and thought you might like some good tea while you’re here. I figured bags would be easier than loose. Sorry it isn’t that rare Chinese stuff you went on and on about.”

“Da Hong Pao. That was a once-in-a-lifetime taste.”

“Several tastes, if I recall correctly,” Camille smirked.

“Hey, I had to be thorough in my investigation. The lapsang is wonderful, and it is Chinese. Thank you. It will be lovely with the shortbread the station gave me. And I apologize for being cranky for this morning.”

“It’s all right. I do understand. You reminded me a bit of Aimee when she was going through the ‘terrible twos.’ There were days when nothing was right. You know what I would do then?”

“Sit her on the naughty step?”

“No. I’d hug her and tell her it was going to be all right.” Camille sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward. She slipped her arms around Richard and hugged him. “It’s going to be all right, Richard. You will get better. It will take time, but it will happen.”

“Promise?” Richard asked softly.

Camille blinked back tears. That was what Aimee would say. She gave him a squeeze, then pulled back. “Promise. Now, why do you need the computer?”

“My doctor is going to give me a list of suggested care places and I want to be able to check them out.”

“I started charging it when I got here. I think the cord will reach you.” Camille moved the computer to Richard’s table.

“Thank you. This bed table may be the best thing about being here,” said Richard as he turned on his computer. “Everything I need, right within reach. My laptop, book, water…”

“A beer?” said Camille teasingly.

“Did you?”

“No, of course not. It’s against the rules.”

“When did rules ever stop you from doing something?”

“Since I had a child and became chief of police. I love Aimee, you know that. And I’m proud to be Chief. But sometimes all that responsibility…” Camille shrugged.

“I know. Makes you envy Peter Pan sometimes, doesn’t it?” Richard tapped a few keys and then groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“So many emails! Mum brought this in one day early on and I caught up, but now my inbox is a mess again.” He began to tap and mutter delete, delete, later, delete, delete…

“I’m going to get a coffee and let you work. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Richard took a tea bag from the box. “Please?”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and said, “Ohhhhh, delicious.”

Camille smiled. A cup of tea was such a small thing. It made her feel good to find a way to make his day a little better. 

“Sorry about the paper cup.”

“If it can’t be china, at least it’s biodegradable. Have a shortbread. Perfect with tea, but equally good with coffee.” 

Pleased that he Richard would share a precious commodity, Camille took one of the shortbread fingers. “Mmm, good. How are you doing on the emails?”

“I finished the rough cull. Your timing bringing this is excellent. I can pay a few bills before I get into late fees. So many things you don’t remember to take care of when you’re in hospital. I’m used to an orderly life and this,” he gestured at the room. “This was not part of my plan.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. If you need any errands run while I’m here, I’m happy to do them.”

“No, you’ve already—” Richard stopped abruptly, then continued. “You’ve already done so much. You came all this way, used leave time, and all you’ve done is fetch things for me and sit here. It’s a sunny day. You should be out enjoying yourself, not hanging about in here with a grumpy invalid.”

Camille smiled. The silly man still didn’t get it. “I came here to see _you._ ”

“I appreciate that, I do. But I feel guilty that I’m taking up so much of your time. And I just got the email from my doctor with a list of suggested care places. I need to check them out before he visits tomorrow.”

“All right. I’ll leave you to it. Would you mind forwarding the list to me? I’m curious about the kind of places you might go to.”

“Yes. I’d appreciate hearing your opinions.”

Camille snorted. “That’s a first!”

Richard tried to glare, but he couldn’t help smiling. “I suppose it is. But don’t spend too much time on that. Go enjoy yourself.”

“I will. Maybe I’ll go totally tourist and ride a HoHo.” Seeing Richard’s confused expression, she explained, “A hop-on-hop-off bus.”

“Very touristy. But not a bad way to see a lot of the city in a short time. Just don’t believe everything the guides say.”

“Keep your mobile on. If I hear anything dubious, I’ll send you a text.”


	15. Communications

While waiting at the bus stop, Camille checked her email. She saw the forwarded email from Richard. The list of places was long and she decided to investigate them later. She read an email from Fidel updating her on recent events. Nothing required her input so she sent back a short “well done” message. She was just finishing one more email when the bus arrived.

The tour was pleasant. There was more history than Camille could possibly remember, but she allowed her brain to tune out when the guide went into too much detail. The views were beautiful, and she managed to get a few good photos. She sent one to Catherine to be shown to Aimee.

>   
>  Hello Aimee,  
>  Look what I saw today! I went for a ride around London and I saw Big Ben’s tower. Does this look like your postcard?  
>  I miss you!  
>  Love and kisses,  
>  Maman  
> 

-o-o-o-o-

Richard squeezed his eyes shut, leaned his head back, and rolled his shoulders. He’d spent two hours looking at websites of the rehab facilities his doctor recommended. He had no idea how he would choose one. They all seemed alike. Might as well base the decision on the room décor. 

“Inspector Poole?” An orderly pushed a wheelchair into the room.

“Yes?”

“I’m here to take you to X-ray.”

“I wasn’t told about this. Are you sure you want me?”

“Yes, sir. Dr. Mahabir ordered x-rays for you.”

“All right. Give me a moment, please.” As Richard shut down his computer, his mobile buzzed. He looked at it and smiled. Camille had sent him a selfie with the Eye in the background, giving her the effect of a halo. The message said simply _wish u were here_

As he put his mobile away, he thought, _I do, too._

-o-o-o-o-

After supper, Camille checked her email. She read Catherine’s reply to the photo.

>   
>  … and of course, Aimee was excited to see the picture and know that you had been to visit one of her postcards. She wants to know if the queen was wearing the pretty blue hat. I tried to explain that you probably hadn’t met the queen, but she expects you to see everything that’s on her postcards.  
>  I’m happy to see that you’ve been getting out and doing something more than visiting Richard. Don’t worry, I won’t “start all that again,” but you owe yourself some fun.  
>  Love you!  
>  Maman  
> 

The other new email was much shorter.

>   
>  YES! Absolutely BRILLIANT!!!!!!  
>  Ruth  
> 

Camille smiled. She was beginning to think that she would miss Ruth even more than Richard when she went back to Saint Marie. She reached for her mobile.

_“Hello?”_

“Ruth, it’s Camille.”

_“Hello, dear. Did you see my email?”_

“Yes. Are you sure? I don’t want you to think I’m trying to pull Richard away from his family.”

_“Oh, my dear, pull as much as you like. I'll even push from the other side. I think it would be good for him.”_

“And Richard’s father?”

_“I’ll get David on our side, you needn’t worry about that. What does the doctor say?”_

“I sent the information to the doctor, but I don't know if he'll talk to me. I'm not family, and there are privacy issues.”

_“The doctor can talk to me. Given his job, Richard made sure that someone he trusts could make decisions if he was unable to. We've all three got permission to speak for one another. The clinic looks good to me, but I don't know what Richard's needs will be. If the doctor doesn’t contact you, I will encourage him to call the clinic and talk to them.”_

“Thank you Ruth. It’s wonderful to have an ally in this.”

-o-o-o-o-

Dr. Mahabir looked at his watch. Minus four hours… yes, he should get an answer at this time of day. He called the Jacaranda Center for Healthy Living and asked to speak to Dr. Sacks. 

“Jeff, is that really you? What the hell are you doing in the tropics?”

_“Livin the island life, mon."_ replied Sacks in an imitation of the island accent. 

“Seriously, what made you give up your practice in Manchester?”

_“A chance meeting. Annie and I took a holiday to the Caribbean. It was an alumni thing from Annie's university. Small cruise ship, we visited a few islands. I thought, what the hell, I should look into the hospital situation on small islands. Maybe write a paper on it or something. So I checked into doctors on the little islands, and a name popped up. Do you remember Jeremy Tipping? Plastic surgery, a year ahead of us?”_

“Arrogant prick, if I recall correctly.

_“Yup. Family money, instant entre to a high-profile private practice, a career of making the already beautiful even more beautiful. Doubt the man has ever seen a National Health patient. But before you say anything else, I should point out that he's had quite a comedown.”_

“Malpractice? I hear there’s a lot of it in his field.”

_“No. Health issues. He's lost nearly all his eyesight. Death to a surgeon's practice. Then there was a scandal with some of his staff. Fortunately, the culprits were caught and Tipping was shown to have nothing to do with it.”_

“So no more plastic surgery. But how did he get from there to physical therapy?”

_“We have two practices here. Did you look at our website?”_

“Yeah, health food and physio. Odd combination.”

_“It’s more than just health food. It started with a comment from a patient. Someone suggested she go out and explore the island, see some of the real Saint Marie. The woman discovered that fun was as much a youth-preserving thing as surgery. She told Tipping she wouldn't be back for more surgery because she'd found out how to like herself. It got him thinking about healthy lifestyles, and he changed the clinic to a health spa. A sort of nonsurgical way of improving oneself. Feel better, look better.”_

“That seems very new-age for someone like him.”

_“It's medically sound, not mumbo jumbo. Healthy eating, exercise, a little group therapy. Even arts and crafts. And before you laugh, a lot of these high-maintenance woman have never painted anything other than their nails, never held a knitting needle. It sounds corny, but they get excited about learning something new.”_

“Ohhhkay. But what about you? Are you teaching knitting?”

_“No. Annie is teaching the fibrearts classes. When we moved here, she was looking for something to do and that turned out to be a perfect fit. She loves it here.”_

“And you?”

_“For me, the timing was everything. Tipping had a few patients here for R &R after heavy post-accident physio. It occurred to him that this could be an extension of the healthy-living stuff. He showed me around, admitted he was trying to barter a nice lunch for advice on how to extend his physical therapy setup to more serious orthopedics. Somehow from there, the discussion moved to me spending a few holiday weeks here, and by the time we were done talking, I wanted to stay. Fortunately, Annie was ready for a move, too. Her father had died the year before, and we had some extra money to fund a change. I bought into the place and helped grow that side of things. So that's me caught up. What about you?”_

“Jimmy and I got married once it became legal.”

_“Congratulations! About damn time. And your practice?”_

“It's good. I'm the puzzle man. My specialty is putting together bits and pieces. That's why I'm calling you. I've got a man with a bad break. Hit by a FedEx van. Left femur in pieces and extensive muscle damage. He's going to need a lot of physio. Short term, he's ready to go from hospital to a physio clinic nearby. Once he's out of the cast—I estimate two weeks—he can go anywhere. A friend of his suggested this. Said Tipping knows Poole from his time in the police on the island and owes him a favor. I don't think the National Health will pick up the cost of an offshore clinic, so that's something Poole would have to work out with Tipping. But before we get to that, here's what Poole's going to need…”


	16. Possibilities

Camille paused in the doorway to Richard’s room. She had learned that she could judge his mood pretty quickly if she could observe him for a moment before he realized she was there. He didn’t look happy.

“Are you okay, Richard?”

Richard shot Camille a glare she hadn’t seen since the first months he’d been on Saint Marie. He gestured at his leg and at the room. “You’ve only just noticed that I might not be _okay_?”

Camille tried another approach, “You look tired. Did you have trouble sleeping? Did your leg hurt too much?”

“No,” Richard rubbed his forehead. “I lay awake for hours thinking about what comes next. These places all look the same. How am I supposed to choose?”

“I know. I couldn’t find much difference, either. I did some searching and didn’t find any negative reports about any of them, so that’s something hopeful.”

“It’s still confinement. I’m tired of being cooped up. I know you think all I do is go to work and go home again, but I do get out. I go to the pub. I walk to the shops or to the library on weekends. At work, I’m used to walking over to the market for coffee or a snack. I go to crime scenes and to interview witnesses. Until this, I hadn’t realized how much I move around during the day. Did you look at the photos? All they show is interiors. Bedrooms, dining room, gym, pool. Nowhere to go!” Richard sighed, “I suppose it doesn’t matter, since I _can’t_ walk.”

“Yes, you can! Not well, and not without help. But it will get better, Richard. That’s the whole point of rehab.” Camille reached out her hand, “Give me one of your tea bags. I’m going for coffee and I’ll get a proper cup of tea for you. And then we can sit down and go through the list.”

Richard took her outstretched hand in his. “I’m sorry, Camille. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just… I feel so helpless, so bloody useless. I can’t even get my own tea.”

“Then I’ll get it for you.”

“Thank you,” said Richard as he handed the tea bag to Camille. “And I truly am sorry for earlier.”

“It’s all right. It reminded me of the days when you would rant about lost luggage, the heat,” she smiled and added, “and me.”

-o-o-o-o-

A few minutes after Camille left, Dr. Mahabir arrived.

“Good morning, Inspector. How are you feeling?”

“Like I have a broken leg.”

“Not as broken as it was. I had a look at your X-rays. You’re healing nicely. I think you can be out of the cast in two weeks or so. You might need a brace for walking at first, but that wouldn’t be full time. I’d like to discuss the next steps. Have you had time to look at the rehab places?”

Richard bit back a sarcastic remark about having more than enough time. Instead, he simply said, “Yes, but I have no idea which one to choose.”

“For the next two weeks, I’d like you to be nearby. Once the cast is off, you can go anywhere. My understanding is that as you were injured while on police business, the Met will cover your expenses at a private facility. The National Health, of course, will be pleased to have you out of hospital.”

“Frankly, Doctor, all the places look the same. It’s still going to be hospitalization, captivity.”

“Well, if you get out of London, you’ll have a better view from your cell. In fact, I want to add another—” Dr. Mahabir looked up when he saw Camille in the doorway.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m just bringing Richard some tea.”

“Dr. Mahabir, this is Camille Abbott, Chief of Honoré police. Camille, this is Dr. Mahabir, my orthopedist.”

“Hello,” Camille set down the cups and shook the doctor’s hand.

“Ah, Chief Abbott. Pleased to meet you. I believe you’re the mother of the Inspector’s favorite artist,” he gestured toward the picture Aimee had drawn.

“Yes, that’s right. I know you have a lot to discuss, so I’ll leave.”

“No. Camille, please stay,” said Richard. “You might have some questions that will help me decide.”

“Yes, do stay,” said the doctor. “I was about to add another possibility to the list of rehab places. I recently heard about an interesting place. An old friend from medical school is their orthopedist. I discussed your needs with him and he says they can help you. It’s a bit unorthodox. It’s a combination of a rehab facility and a healthy-living clinic. In addition to physio and exercise, you might benefit from their other services. They offer counseling. Mostly group therapy—”

“No. I am not going to sit around with a bunch of people whinging on about their problems.”

“As I was about to say, it’s mostly group therapy, but they offer individual counseling, too. Don’t scoff, Inspector. You will have to adjust to being less mobile than you used to be. We’ve discussed this before. How much less depends on your progress with the physiotherapy, but it will be an adjustment.”

“Is this the only place with shrinks?”

“I believe so. You don’t have to use the counseling. But you may find it helpful. Of course, counselling can be arranged separately, if you want it.”

“Which place do you think is best?”

“For the next two weeks, the Barnes Clinic. It’s two blocks from here. After that, I think Jacaranda looks good.”

“Why is that name familiar?” asked Richard. Dr. Mahabir looked at Camille and gestured for her to answer.

“It’s Dr. Tipping’s clinic.”

“That’s plastic surgery. Someone gave you bad information, Doctor.”

“No,” said Camille. “He gave up surgery and changed to a healthy living spa. Remember the Dupree murder? And the woman who found her? You know, the one I told about Maman’s bar. We saw her on the beach that afternoon when we were playing a game. I remember how happy she was. And I told you that you should try, um…”

Dr. Mahabir looked at Camille, then at Richard, then back at Camille. These two had some sort of shorthand that he wished he could read.

“Yes, I remember.”

“She told Tipping that she wouldn’t be back for any more nips, tucks, or lifts. She realized there was more to being happy than trying to look 20 years younger than she was. That made him rethink the clinic. And it was all because of my comment about getting out to see the island.”

“So you both think I should go to Saint Marie for rehab?” asked Richard. “It’s bound to be too expensive, and the Met will never pay for it.”

“Tipping has done well and he is grateful to both of us,” said Camille. “You saved him from prison and I had the idea that changed his clinic. He owes you a favor, and will lower the price of your stay. And because you were on Saint Marie as part of your time in the Met, there’s some kind of technicality that makes it possible for the Met to pay for it.”

“Saint Marie… I don’t know. Do I have some time to think about it?”

“Of course,” said Dr. Mahabir. “You’ll be here a few more days and then two weeks at the Barnes. Sleep on it. Talk to your family. No need to decide this minute.”

After Dr. Mahabir left, Camille asked, “Do you want to talk or think?”

“Think. And, um…”

“You want me to go?”

“I think better when you’re not in the room.”

“All right, but before I do, may I say one thing?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Of course not,” Camille smirked. “There is something that Saint Marie has that none of the other places has.”

“And what is that?” asked Richard, expecting her to say _she_ was that something.

“If you come to Saint Marie, I can to go to the holy well and get a bucket of water to pour on your leg.”

Before Richard could answer, she leaned down, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how much the Met or National Health would pay for an offshore rehab, but I'm going to take whatever artistic license I need.


	17. Another Opinion

Camille woke on her last full day in London and realized that after today she wouldn’t see Richard until he went to the Jacaranda Clinic. _IF_ he went to the Jacaranda Clinic. She knew she shouldn’t pressure him, and she certainly wasn’t objective, but it really did seem to be the best place. She could only hope Richard looked at it that way.

Camille and Ruth had talked for a long time the night before. Ruth said that David was initially resistant to the idea, but he had been all through the Jacaranda website and had to admit that it was impressive. As they were talking, David was doing a thorough search of the internet to see if there were any negative reports. Camille was fairly sure there wouldn’t be any. The identity theft at the clinic had been handled with great tact due, in large part, to Commissioner Patterson’s friendship with Dr. Tipping.

Camille was nervous. She hadn’t had time to worry about meeting Ruth. That happened accidentally, and they became friends before either had time to wonder if she would like the other. But once Camille knew that both of Richard’s parents would be visiting today, she couldn’t help but be concerned. Camille and Ruth were in favor of Saint Marie as a rehab location. And if Richard wanted it, too, would his father agree or try to discourage him? 

It was too early to visit Richard, so Camille tidied the already neat-as-a-pin flat. She noticed some papers sticking out of the desk drawer that had held the laptop. She opened the drawer and started to push the papers back when she realized what they were. They were the notes she had sent along with Aimee’s drawings. When she found the stack of drawings, she had wondered about her notes. Since they weren’t with the drawings, she had assumed he’d thrown them away. Now she wondered why they were in the desk. Hidden from prying eyes? Stuffed out of the way to reduce clutter? Put somewhere safe and private because they were as precious (but in a different way) as the drawings? 

Camille made another cup of coffee and sat down to reread her notes. They were often short, sometimes only an explanation of the meaning of a drawing. A few were longer. She noticed that those talked about people and places as if Richard were still living on Saint Marie and only in London for a brief visit. _Remember this, remember that, wish you could have seen it, so-and-so says hello._

She wished she had said more, but even now, despite Ruth’s assertion that Richard cared for her, Camille was afraid to be open about her feelings. She knew how easily Richard became embarrassed by emotions and how quickly he could retreat. Today was her last chance to make him understand that she wouldn’t think less of him if he had physical limitations, that she would welcome him into her life on whatever terms he set. That she would love him, no matter what. She remembered the conversation they’d had during his visit to Saint Marie. 

_“Your note was…”_

_“You found it, then.”_

_“Yes. I still have it. It’s the closest thing to a love letter I’ve ever received.”_

_“It’s the closest to one I’ve ever written. If I write a better one this time, will you come back to Saint Marie? In less than five years?”_

Maybe that was the answer. 

-o-o-o-o-

After a few minutes of discussing various rehab clinics, Camille decided to point out a significant difference. “One thing in favor of Saint Marie is the weather.”

“Reminding me of the sweltering heat is not a good inducement,” said Richard.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to walk around in a suit and tie. And the rooms are air conditioned, so you’d be able to sleep well. Remember, it’s getting colder here. Winter will mean your rehab will be all indoors.”

“I know. I suppose I’ll be nervous about slipping on icy spots on the pavement for the rest of my life.”

“So Saint Marie is too hot and winter here is going to be too icy. You’re never happy with the weather, are you?”

“Grumbling about the weather is an English national pastime. I thought you knew that.”

“I know that you grumble about all sorts of things. But you don’t do anything about them. I get angry and I DO something.”

“You should be happy that I’m not as quick to act as you are. If I were, you’d likely have been found strangled somewhere.”

“You tried that once and it didn’t work.”

“I didn’t try to strangle you. I simply held my hands in that position to make a point about Valerie Dupree’s murder. I didn’t expect you to try to subdue me like a suspect.”

“You said something like ‘If I were to strangle you’ and made the move. So I made a counter move.”

“I could have fallen into the pool and ruined my clothes.”

“Oh, Richard, that’s just like you, worried about your suit more than your safety.”

“I wouldn’t have drowned, I can swim.”

“I would have jumped in to save you. It’s what partners do, take care of each other. You saved me from that butler when he was trying to strangle me.”

o-o-o-o-

As they walked down the hallway to Richard’s room, Ruth said to her husband, “Just keep an open mind, that’s all I’m asking.”

“I will. But it’s so far away. Can you handle that?”

“Really, David, for someone who’s interested in technology, I’d have thought you would know about a rather nifty invention called the airplane.”

“Visits would be less frequent, in either direction.”

“Richard doesn’t come home terribly often as it is.

“That’s probably because you fuss and smother-mother him. He’s a grown man, Ruth.”

“Exactly! Which is why we have to accept his decision. Just give it five minutes. You’ll see the difference in him. He lights up when she’s in the room. And she dotes on him.”

As they neared the door, David held his wife back and indicated she should be quiet. He wanted to eavesdrop a little.

_I would have jumped in to save you. It’s what partners do, take care of each other. You saved me from that butler when he was trying to strangle me.”_

_“Bashing him on the head with a cocktail shaker isn’t in the police manual.”_

_“No, but it worked.”_

_“What if it hadn’t? You were taking quite a chance.”_

_“Then you’d have been rid of me. It was what you wanted back then, wasn’t it?”_

_“I didn’t want to work with you, but I didn’t want you dead! I never for a second thought of letting him throttle you.”_

_“I know. You wanted to reserve that pleasure for yourself.”_

_“No comment. But as things turned out, I’m glad I didn’t let him kill you. You’re the best partner I ever had. Maybe the best friend, too. I missed you so much when I was transferred back to London. Not staying in touch was selfish. It was my way of protecting myself. Going back to Saint Marie is appealing. But what happens when my rehab is done?”_

_“I don’t know, Richard. I think all you can do is make one decision at a time. I know that’s difficult for you. But you know that you can’t make a logical decision based on insufficient data. So figure out what you want for the next few months. If you choose to stay in England, Aimee will still send drawings. We’ll still be friends. I won’t be angry at you. I promise.”_

_“I wish I knew what to do.”_

_“Only you can decide that, Richard.”_

David looked at Ruth and beckoned for her to step away from the door.

“What?” she whispered.

“I want to make a normal entrance. I don’t want him to know I was listening. Come on,” he said softly. Then he continued at a normal volume, “I do wish the tea was better on the train.”

“We’ll have a nice tea later. There are some lovely places. Camille and I had lunch—oh, hello!” Ruth said as she entered the room. She kissed Richard, then hugged Camille. “David, this is Camille from Saint Marie. Camille, this is David, Richard’s father.

“Hello,” Camille held out her hand, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you. Ruth has told me so much about you. Are you enjoying your visit to London?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve spent most of my time with Richard, but I did get out for some sightseeing. I’m sorry I didn’t have more time in the National Gallery. I love art museums. When I was in Paris, I went to the Louvre as often as I could. And the Musée d’Orsay—all those wonderful paintings!”

“Ah yes, and such a special building. It was once a railway station, you know,” said David. “When we lived in Paris, we went there often. I loved the building and Ruth loved the pictures.”

“You lived in Paris?” Camille was surprised by this revelation.

“Yes, when Richard was a boy.”

“Richard, you never told me this!”

“I wasn’t there. I was at school.”

“Oh,” was all Camille said, but her mind was busy analyzing this discovery. Richard was stuck at school while his parents went traveling. That explained _so_ much. Meanwhile, David had gone back to the subject of the Musée d’Orsay.

“Adaptive reuse is so important,” he said. “The train station might have been demolished if there hadn’t been a need for a museum for this period of art. I know that you can’t save everything, but giving an old building a new life is better than some of the new stuff they build. I mean, just look at the Pompidou. Hideous!”

Richard knew of (and shared) his father’s opinions about modern architecture. He said, “Wasn’t that the same architect as the Lloyd’s building?”

“Yes. Ridiculous to have all of a building’s innards on the outside,” grumbled David.

“You would probably like Saint Marie,” Camille told him. “We don’t have any inside-out buildings or skyscrapers of any kind. Even our newest resorts are designed to look like local buildings.”

“Vernacular architecture,” said David approvingly. “Local style often exists for very good reasons. Whitewashing buildings to make them reflect hot sunlight, for example. Although the purpose of building a house around a tree mystifies me.”

“I think my shack was the exception, rather than the rule,” said Richard. “Camille, I forgot to ask. Who lives there now?”

“Nobody lives there. When I became chief, I already had my own house, so there wasn’t a tenant for the shack. It was vacant and getting run down. Then it was sold and the new owner renovated it. Now it’s rented as a holiday cottage.”

Camille answered more questions about Saint Marie, then David suggested she and Ruth get some fresh air or tea so that he and Richard could have a private talk.

When they were alone, David said, “Richard, I know you don’t believe it, but I am proud of you. Your academic skills, your work on the police force, the kind of man you grew up to be. I know you felt we dumped you in boarding school to get rid of you, but it was much better than the local school. You were so bright and we wanted the best for you. We didn't put you in boarding school so that we could be unencumbered and travel. That actually came after the school. A few years after you started, I had an opportunity to travel that I probably wouldn't have taken if you'd been at home. I think it's important for children to have continuity in their education. If you’d traveled with us, you’d have been in a school here and then another one there, and then a third the next year. I don't like that. Since you were settled, we took the opportunity. 

“Your time in boarding school made my career possible. Ironically, you being at boarding school made it easier for us to afford the school. You may think it sounds selfish, but advancing my career was my way of taking care of you and Mum. And the travel was good for Mum, too. She was a girl from a small village, then a wife in a small village. She loves the village and our home, but getting out and seeing the world gave her a chance to learn, to use her intelligence. I see the smirk, young man. It's true, your smarts did not come from me. I like to think I gave you my work ethic. But Mum is smarter than I am. I tell her that all the time. 

“I'm sorry that we haven't been close. And now you're considering being farther away. Please believe me when I say that I love you and I will miss you when you're half a world away. But I think you should go. See if there is something for you and Camille. Despite being in one of the world’s greatest cities, you live an even smaller village life than Mum and I do. Work and back to the flat, day after day. I realize that you resented our travels, and that resentment made you somewhat of a xenophobe. But it’s time to let that go. You should get out and enjoy the world.”

“You’re right about your travels,” Richard nodded. “When you and Mum went to France, I wanted to go with you. And when I couldn’t, I hated France for taking you away. That sounds irrational. I mean, I _knew_ that it wasn’t France’s fault. But I _felt_ that it was. Knowing and feeling aren’t the same. I can’t remember how many times I tried to convince Camille of that. The odd thing is, her ‘I have a feeling’ often turned out to be correct.”

“Your mother is the same way. I know I've been negative about your attachment to Camille. Mum told me if I watched the two of you for five minutes, I'd change my mind. She was wrong.” David paused for a moment and smiled. “It took less than a minute. Go, Richard. Give it a chance.”

“Thanks, Dad. It means a lot to know you don’t think I’m completely mad to consider it.”

“Oh, I didn’t say you aren’t utterly bonkers. But sometimes the craziest option turns out to be the best move you could make. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”


	18. Coffee and a Chat

David and Ruth insisted on taking Camille to supper after their visit to Richard. Camille suggested a restaurant in Richard’s neighborhood so that they could go to his flat for coffee. As they strolled to the flat, Camille thanked David for the delicious supper.

“I’m sorry it isn’t Sunday,” David replied. “Many restaurants still do a traditional Sunday roast, complete with Yorkshire pudding. It’s a shame you haven’t had a chance to enjoy that.”

“I’ve had Yorkshire pudding. My mother made a traditional roast beef dinner for Richard not long after he arrived on Saint Marie. He said her Yorkshire pudding was almost as good as yours, Ruth.”

“He does love Yorkshire pudding,” said Ruth. “He considers himself a connoisseur, so your mother should be proud of his approval.”

“Perhaps I should learn to make it. You know, in case Richard does come to Saint Marie.”

At the flat, Camille started the coffee while Ruth investigated Richard’s clothing. Camille joined her in the bedroom.

“I’ll strip the bed and wash the sheets tomorrow morning,” said Camille. “Should I make up the bed or leave it unmade? It will be a while before Richard comes back here.”

“Don’t worry about it if time is tight,” said Ruth. “I’ll have to be here next week when he’s moved, so I can do it then. I’ll clear out the fridge then, too. Richard gave me a list of things to collect for him. Once the cast is off he’ll be able to wear normal clothes.”

“That will be good for his morale. Normal clothes mean he’s moving toward a normal life.”

Ruth rummaged through a drawer and tsk’d, “He was right when he said that he could do with some new underwear. I’ll have to do some shopping.”

“I could have done that. I did offer to run errands for him.”

“My dear, it’s bad enough that his mother has to buy underpants for him. He’d be _mortified_ if he had to ask you to do it.”

As they sat sipping coffee, the conversation returned to the possibility of Richard going to the Jacaranda Clinic.

“You want him to go there, don’t you, Camille?” asked David.

“Yes, I do. I think it would be good for him. He has friends there. Despite the long absence we still care for him. I know he wasn’t happy on Saint Marie at first. He isn’t good with change, new situations. But as he came to know us, he started fitting in. He can seem so self-contained and stand-offish, but we got to know him—the real Richard, the one who’s so afraid of rejection. He has lived a lonely life. He is so smart and so kind but he doesn’t believe anyone can love him. I want to show him how wrong he is.

“You feel sorry for him?” asked David.

“Yes, because he’s been unhappy so much of his life. But more than that, I love him. I know that he isn’t good at expressing emotions,” Camille paused when she saw Ruth give her husband a significant look. So she had been right the night of the storm when she’d guessed that, saying that Richard must have got that tendency from somewhere.

“The famous British reserved nature,” sighed Ruth.

“Yes,” Camille smiled. “Our less reserved nature was a shock to Richard at first. But working together taught us a lot about each other. There were times, sometimes just fleeting moments, when we seemed to be so in sync. We took care of each other. When my friend was murdered, Richard tried so hard to be supportive and helpful. He said some odd things, but I realized his intention was good, even if his expression of it was awkward. And when one of his former colleagues came to the island—do you know about Croyden?”

“He worked there for about fifteen years,” said David.

“Not that. Do you know how he was treated there?”

“He didn’t talk much about work.”

“That’s because he was unhappy. This horrible man was the ringleader. They used to make fun of Richard because he didn’t spend lunchtime drinking in the pub with them. Because he wasn’t ‘one of the boys.’ Richard was bullied in Croyden. He was bullied at school, too.” Seeing Ruth begin to get teary, Camille moderated her speech. “He learned how to deal with the school bullies, and in some ways, I suppose it made him stronger. But the emotional bullying at Croyden was harder for him. He retreated, became even more of a loner.”

“I had no idea!” said Ruth. 

“Of course not. He didn’t want you to know. He convinced himself that it didn’t matter, that having friends wasn’t as important as being good at his job. He wanted to be a success and make you proud of him.”

“I told him this afternoon that I’m proud of him,” said David. “I’m not sure he believed me. I have been his father his whole life, and you worked with him for only two years. Yet you know him so much better than I do.”

_I made the effort,_ thought Camille. Instead, she said, “We spent a lot of time together. The night of the hurricane we were stranded in a weather station. I know, ironic, right? It was one of the rare times when Richard opened up. He talked about not feeling good enough.”

“That’s on me,” said David. “I suppose I pushed him to do better, to reach his potential more than I should have. I should have praised what he _had_ accomplished more and focused less on what he _could_ accomplish.”

“He also talked about a childhood memory, a caravan in Clacton.”

“I remember that. We went a few times when he was quite small,” said Ruth.

“Oh, God,” said David. “I remember those holidays. Cramped little caravans. One year it rained half the time. Came down in buckets! That was back before things took off for me at work. We couldn’t afford much, and the caravans were cheap. I hate to think what Richard said about that.”

“He loved it,” said Camille. “And he meant that. By then, I could tell when Richard was trying to make light of unpleasantness, what I call fake-happy Richard. And I can tell when he’s genuinely happy. The caravan is a happy memory for him. I don’t think he cared that it was an inexpensive holiday. He was with you, and that made him happy.”

Ruth sniffled and Camille reached over to touch her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say all of this to make you feel bad. I want you to know what it is I see in him that makes me love him. I think he has a great capacity to love, but he’s afraid to offer that love for fear of rejection. I hope that spending time on Saint Marie, spending time with me, he’ll come to see that he can trust me to accept his love and love him in return.”

David sighed, “Well, for once it appears that I did the right thing. I told Richard that, as much as we would miss him, going to Saint Marie is a good move. That he should see if there is something for him there. 

“There is,” said Ruth. “I’m certain of it.”

“We should be going,” said David, standing. “We have a train to catch. Camille, thank you for having the courage to tell us what we—no, what _I_ needed to hear, rather than what I wanted to hear.”

Camille rose and walked to the man she hoped would someday be her father-in-law. She hugged him briefly and said, “I’m glad I had a chance to meet you. If Richard chooses Jacaranda, I hope you will come to Saint Marie. Consider this an open invitation.”

“We’ll definitely be there for the wedding,” said Ruth.

“One thing at a time,” said Camille as she hugged Ruth. “First we have to get him to Saint Marie.”


	19. Next Steps

Richard stretched out on his bed at the Barnes Clinic. The room looked more like a bedroom than a hospital room, although it still had a standard hospital bed. He pushed a button to raise the head end, trying to find a comfortable position. He was contemplating taking a nap when his tea arrived. 

“You mustn’t expect room service all the time, Inspector,” said the cheerful aide as she set the tray on the bedside table, “First day, we let you settle in. But tomorrow you’ll be taking meals in the dining room with the other guests.”

“Patients, you mean.”

“Part of rehabilitation is making the mental transition from patient to able-bodied person. We NEVER use words like cripple, lame—”

“Yes, I know. But it’s easy for you to say, you’re young and mobile.” 

“Now, Inspector…” A stern look replaced the smile on the aide’s face,

“I know, drop the self-pity along with the cigarette ends in the bin outside the front door. But the cheerful attitudes around here are a little over-the-top for me. I haven’t been forced to be so happy since…” Richard paused. _Since Saint Marie. And I wasn’t forced to be happy. I truly was happy there._

“Sir?”

“Sorry,” Richard smiled. “Lost in a memory. I shall try to be less grumpy.”

“Not _less_ grumpy. _More_ cheerful. Go at things from a positive angle.” And with a smile, the aide left Richard’s room.

It had been a long day. The transfer was easy enough. Just a few blocks by medical transport. Then meeting staff, getting orientated. For a more gregarious person it would have been easy. For Richard, it was a lot of painful small talk. He did like his physio. Tony discussed the exercises in detail, and it was obvious that he knew quite a lot of physiology, which Richard found reassuring. Although the founder. Dr. Barnes, had been retired for many years, the clinic still carried on his policy of attitude adjustment. Years of disappointment had taught Richard to be a realist. He knew that he would have limitations. He also knew that the only way to minimize them was to work hard at his physiotherapy. He didn’t need cheerleaders to remind him of that. 

Richard picked up the cards his mother gave him just before she left. Ruth had delivered clothes and other personal items from his flat. She made sure that one of Aimee’s drawings had been hung in a place of honor and generally fussed until Richard shooed her out. He opened the card from his parents. It wasn’t his mother’s usual taste of flowers and sunshine. It showed a puppy with a well-chewed slipper in its mouth. Inside it said “Behave yourself!” Unusually, his father had signed it for both parents, and added _Mum picked out something icky-sweet, so I substituted this when she wasn’t looking!_

Richard stared at the note. He hadn’t seen this light-hearted side of his father in years. All his mother had said was that they’d had a “lovely chat” with Camille after they left the hospital together. Was the card somehow related to something Camille had said?

The envelope from Camille felt thicker. He opened it and a sheet of paper fell out. He read the card first. The picture on the front showed a male dancer executing a _grand jeté,_ a ballet leap. Inside, Camille had written _No ballet? Tap shoes instead? Or would you prefer to learn zouk?_ A large smiley face and her initials followed the comment. Richard unfolded the paper and read the note, which was more serious.

> Dear Richard,  
>  Congratulations on making it to your next step of recovery. I know you’ll work hard, because that’s what you do. I’m sure the physios have said this, but I want to remind you that recovery can have plateaus. Don’t be discouraged if it seems slow. You’ll get there, I know you will.  
>  You know that I would like you to come to Jacaranda. I know I shouldn’t try to convince you. It’s your life and your decision. Whatever you choose to do, I will always be your friend and I will be there for you, whatever you need or want. And even if you never want more than friendship, I will always love you.  
>  Camille  
> 

He was reading the note for the third time when another aide appeared, carrying a plant.

“This just arrived for you, Inspector. Isn’t it pretty!” She set the plant on the table by the armchair. “That should give it some sunlight in the mornings. Do you want to read the card?”

“Yes, thank you,” Richard accepted the little envelope and the aide left. The card was signed _With love from Camille and Aimee,_ but it was in a stranger’s handwriting. Camille must have ordered it online. 

-o-o-o-o-

The only part of her job that Camille disliked was the paperwork. She signed the last form, closed the folder, and walked it to Carrie’s desk.

“Done! Thank you for keeping all of this organized so well. You are a treasure, Carrie.”

“My pleasure, Chief. That’s everything left from while you were away. I’m sorry your friend was injured, but you seem to have had a good time anyway.”

“I did. You’re right that the circumstances could have been better, but—” Camille was interrupted by the buzz of her phone. She saw a new text from Richard. There was a photo of the plant she had sent and a message. _Thank you for the orchid plant. It’s lovely. Are you trying to brainwash me?”_

Camille smiled. Yes, it could be considered brainwashing. Or subversive. Or maybe even pathetic. But she was beyond pride. So she answered his text. _Just a reminder of how beautiful it is here. And I wouldn’t complain if it influences your decision. ;-)_

-o-o-o-o-

The next day, Richard received a get-well card from Fidel and Juliet. The day after that, a postcard from Dwayne arrived. The photo showed a group of bikini-clad women running into the surf. Dwayne had written, _Greetings from Saint Marie. Hope this makes you want to get up and start running!_

Richard smiled, remembering the time had had chased Camille along the beach. He wondered if he would ever be able to do that again. The clinic emphasized setting goals. So here was a goal—someday he would chase Camille along a beach. And he’d make damn sure that he would catch her this time.

-o-o-o-o-

“You won’t be needing that chair much longer, Inspector,” said Tony as an aide pushed Richard’s wheelchair into the gym. “You can put weight on your leg now, so we’re going to get you going with a Zimmer frame.” 

Tony adjusted the height and showed Richard how to use the frame for support when he walked. Richard took a few steps and then Tony stopped him.

“Not like that. You aren’t pushing a supermarket trolley. Don’t push it ahead of you like that. It will make you more likely to fall and it’s bad for your back. What is this thing called?”

“A Zimmer frame.”

“Frame being the operative word. Think of how a frame surrounds something. In this case, it’s surrounding you. So stay inside the frame. Try again.”

This time, Richard used the frame properly. 

“Okay, that’s good,” said Tony.

“It’s so slow.”

“Yeah, well you know, you aren’t here to train for a race. For now, small steps and stay in the frame. It’s time for lunch. I’ll have an aide walk with you just in case.”

Richard moved slowly into the dining room. He smiled when it crossed his mind that he was part of what looked like a parade of walking wounded. Zimmers, crutches, wheelchairs. Very few people seemed to be without some kind of support. He remembered the time he’d told Camille that people in the suburbs were “his people.” Now “his people” were all physio patients.

-o-o-o-o-

The next morning, Richard returned to his room after a physio session and saw that he had mail. It was a new drawing from Aimee. In the six months or so since she started sending him drawings, he had noticed an improvement in her ability. It was easy to see that the scene was a beach with palm trees. And there was a small boat in the water. He looked closely and smiled. Aimee’s writing wasn’t _that_ good. Camille must have added “Roast Beef” to the boat. He opened her note and read.

>   
>  Dear Richard,  
>  We had a picnic at the beach the other day. A couple rowed by in a small boat, and Aimee said she wished we had a boat. I told her about the _Roast Beef,_ and she decided to draw a picture with a boat in it. (I suppose you’ve figured out that I wrote in the name.)  
>  I haven’t told Aimee that you might be coming to Saint Marie because I know the decision hasn’t been made yet. But if you do come, we could borrow or rent a boat and go out for a picnic on the water. A lazy day bobbing around on the sea sounds good to me. I hope it sounds good to you, too.  
>  Love,  
>  Camille  
> 

Richard smiled when he remembered his little boat. The team fixed it up and painted it for him. The first time he went out in it with Camille, he was so nervous. Every time she moved, he was afraid she would cause it to capsize. It was the sort of prank his former colleagues would have pulled. Eventually he came to know that Camille wouldn’t do something like that, but at the time he hadn’t yet learned to trust her.

He looked out the window at the dreary, rainy day. Bobbing around on the sea in the sunshine sounded good. He could picture them, the three of them, relaxing and having a picnic lunch. Of course, it would need to be a larger and better boat. He wouldn’t risk taking Aimee out in something as small as the _Roast Beef._ And Aimee would need a pfd. They must be available in childrens’ sizes. She should wear one, even if she could swim. Could she swim? He would have to ask Camille about that. 

Richard took out his laptop, intending to do a search for a child-sized pfd. Then he stopped short when he found himself looking at the home page of the Jacaranda website. When had his thinking shifted from IF he was going to Jacaranda to WHEN he was going? Somehow, when he hadn’t been thinking about the decision, some part of his brain—or was it his heart, he wondered—had made the decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PFD is an acronym for personal floatation device, the modern name for life vest.


	20. Getting Ready

Richard couldn’t believe how quickly his mother had acted. She’d rounded up sunscreen, lightweight clothes, all sorts of things he would need for a stay in the tropics. 

“How did you pull this together so quickly?”

Ruth smiled and shrugged. She’d starting planning for him to go to Saint Marie as soon as the possibility arose. But she’d let him think she was a genius.

“I really appreciate it, Mum. But I doubt I’ll wear the shorts. My leg is so ugly!”

“You knew there would be scars. And it will get better as the skin and muscles heal. A bit of a tan might help.”

“I don’t tan, I freckle,” Richard grumbled. 

“The shorts will reach almost to your knee, so you don’t have to worry about people seeing your scars. You aren’t going there to work, Richard. You won’t be walking around in a suit.” Ruth smiled and stroked Richard’s cheek. “Go with the flow, darling. This is your chance to change your life. Don’t be London Richard. Be Saint Marie Richard. Have you told Camille yet?”

“I’m going to tell her today.”

-o-o-o-o-

Dwayne was checking his email when Camille arrived at the station.

“Did you see this, Chief?” he asked, pointing to his monitor. There was a photograph of pieces of fiberglass-reinforced plaster with a caption that said _Ecdysis complete! I have shed my exoskeleton!_

“Yes,” Camille replied. “I checked my email at home earlier.”

“What is ecdysis?”

“It’s moulting,” said Fidel, who had searched for an explanation of the term. 

“Huh? Birds moult.”

“So do other animals,” Fidel replied. “You know, like the way crabs and lobsters shed their shells as they grow.”

“Right,” said Camille. “And Richard has shed his shell. It must feel good to be rid of it.”

“It’s a sign he’s getting better,” said Fidel. 

Camille’s mobile buzzed. She opened the message and was puzzled at first. It was a photo of a tube of sunblock. Why did Richard send that? She glanced at the Dwayne and Fidel. Apparently, they had not received this message. Her mobile buzzed again. Another photo, this time of sunglasses. Then a third, of flip-flops. Was this Richard’s way of telling her he’d made his decision?

“Good morning,” said Carrie as she walked into the station.

“Yes, I think it is!” replied Camille as she walked out onto the porch.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard was lying on his back, trying some of the flexibility exercises Tony had taught him, when his mobile rang. He smiled when he saw the caller ID. “Moarnin’ Camille,” he said, imitating Dwayne’s island drawl.

_“Do those pictures mean what I hope they mean?”_

“Dates aren’t definite yet, but when I’m ready to leave here, I’m going to the Jacaranda.”

_“That’s wonderful! When will you know your travel date?”_

“In a few days,”

_“Don’t book your plane ticket. Let me do that for you. I’ve got lots of miles from when I traveled with Tom. I can get you upgraded to First.”_

“I don’t need that.”

_“Please let me do it. It’s a long flight, you should travel in comfort. Or I could ask Tom if the company jet is available.”_

“Absolutely not. I don’t work for him. I don’t even know him.”

_“Then let me book your flight.”_

“All right,” Richard sighed. How could he have forgotten how determined this woman could be?

_“It must feel good to have the cast off. We were all so pleased to see that picture and know you’re making progress.”_

“It feels good, but it’s depressing to look at the scars. And the muscle damage has left me looking sort of lumpy.”

_“Physio will fix that. So are you walking now?”_

“Yes, with a Zimmer. It’s slow, but it’s better than being trundled around in a wheelchair.”

_“It will get better. Is there anything I can do for you here before you arrive? Anything I can get for you?”_

“No. Mum has been shopping and I think I have everything I need. But you probably know that already. I suspect you two have been emailing behind my back.”

_“We do email, but she didn’t tell me about your decision. She just said she’d been online and found everything you’d need if you decided to come here. So when you decided, she was ready to make her purchases. She’s lovely, Richard. So sweet. I like your father, too. You’re a lot alike. Reserved, slow to open up. But once you do, there’s a wry sense of humor and unexpected warmth. I’ve told them they can visit any time and stay with me. Please remind them that they’re always welcome.”_

“Thank you, Camille.”

_“So it’s definite, right? I can tell the team that you’re coming to Saint Marie? They’ll be so pleased. We can have a welcome party and—”_

“Camille! This is rehab, not a holiday!”

_“It can be both. We can—oh, Fidel is calling me. I have to go back to work. Send me your travel information and I’ll arrange the ticket. See you soon! Bye.”_

Richard set down his mobile and surveyed the pile of tropical clothing. Perhaps Camille was right. It could be a part-time holiday.


	21. On His Way

Richard settled into his seat and looked around. So this was how the other half lived! The combination of First-class ticket, medical assistance, and his police credentials got him through check-in and security faster than he thought possible. He’d relaxed in the airline’s lounge—so much more luxurious than the enormous cattle pen he was accustomed to. When his flight was called, a pleasant airline employee arrived with a cart to drive him to the gate. 

And now here he was, ensconced in First Class, sipping a pre-flight drink. His hard work hard at the Barnes Clinic had paid off. He was able to move onto the plane using sticks instead of a Zimmer. He hated “looking like a cripple.” All the upbeat think-positive attitude of the Barnes had not erased his self-consciousness. But nobody appeared to be staring at him or looking at him pityingly. 

“Excuse me, sir,” said the flight attendant. “I need to stow your sticks for take-off. I’ll put them in the closet. If you need to get up and move around, just call me and I’ll retrieve them for you. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Sensing her curiosity, he remembered the line he’d prepared for such an occasion. He smiled and said, “Never pick a fight with a FedEx van.”

As soon as they were able to adjust their seats, Richard raised the footrest. The flight attendant brought him extra pillows “in case you have trouble finding a comfortable position.” He took out his Kindle and began to read. It was a “get well” gift from his parents. His academic soul missed the heft of a good book in his hands. But it was convenient to have dozens of books in that one small object. And the bonus was that one could read the most godawful trash and there would be no cover to give away a guilty secret. 

The meal service was lovely, and soon Richard was settling in for a good night’s sleep. For once, he was happy that he wasn’t taller. He could stretch out easily, and the extra pillows held his leg in a comfortable position. The next thing he knew, it was time for breakfast.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille had told Richard that she would arrange for him to be met at the gate. Guadeloupe’s airport had fewer carts than Heathrow, so it might be only a wheelchair, but he would not have to walk through the terminal. He told the flight attendant that he was willing to be the last off, rather than delay able-bodied passengers. 

Richard slowly made his way off the plane and through the jetway. When he entered the terminal, he was nearly knocked off his feet when Camille hurled herself at him.

“Richard! I thought you were never going to get off the plane!”

“Well, it was so comfortable in First that I was tempted to stay. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. I couldn’t get a cart, but here’s your chair.”

Richard’s eyes widened in surprise. “Carlton? What are you doing here? Are you still at Jacaranda?”

“Hello, Inspector,” the young man grinned as Richard got into the chair. “Yes, I’m still there. I’m a physician associate now.”

“And they sent you all this way to fetch me?”

“No. That was the Chief’s idea. It’s my day off.”

“You shouldn’t have to spend your day off pushing me around.”

“It’s my pleasure. You saved me. I was the one who injected Valerie Dupree. You could have said ‘He did it’ and let it go at that. But you found out the truth. I owe you a lot more than just one day of taxi service.”

They had reached the luggage carousel, and Carlton went in search of Richard’s cases. Camille smiled at Richard.

“You still don’t realize how much you affected people on Saint Marie, do you? When you gave Carlton those meds so he could continue his little impromptu clinic, it was… hmm, how to say it… It was like you were telling him that his work was worthwhile. That he was worth something. He said that was part of why he decided to do the extra training.”

“It wasn’t that much, Camille.”

“Well, it was to him.”

-o-o-o-o-

When Carlton pushed Richard to the taxi queue, the half-dozen or so people waiting ahead of them all stepped aside to let Richard go first. Embarrassed, he tried to decline, but everyone insisted. So Carlton and Camille helped Ricard into the taxi and soon they were on their way to the ferry dock.

The taxi did not have air conditioning. Richard struggled to get out of his suit jacket and Camille reached out to help him.

“I can’t believe you wore a suit,” she said.

“I wanted to dress for my travel status. Hey, at least I didn’t wear a tie.”

“Yes, I noticed. Goodness, it’s tight through the shoulders.” She managed to get the jacket off and folded it, but did not hand it to Richard. 

“Ah,” said Carlton. “Upper-body development is a common result from the physio. So much use of the arms to lift and support the body when the legs can’t.”

“Hmm, well, I like it,” said Camille. Richard’s only response was to blush, which made her smile. 

When they reached the ferry terminal, Richard saw Carlton take the wheelchair out of the boot. He said, “Carlton, am I going to have to arrest you for stealing a wheelchair from the airport?”

“Oh, no, sir. It’s from Jacaranda, see?” Carlton turned the chair so that Richard could see the logo on the back. “It’s your ride all the way to the clinic.”

“Anyway,” said Camille. “You can’t arrest anyone. You’re on leave. And even if it was _borrowed_ from the airport, I am not going to arrest Carlton.”

“I can probably walk with the sticks.”

“Not a good idea, sir,” said Carlton. “The ramp isn’t level, and the boat might rock. I’m supposed to deliver you to the clinic in one piece. My career survived the Dupree murder, but I don’t think it would survive allowing a patient to fall off the ferry.”

“I hate looking like a cripple.”

“Then keep working at your exercises,” said Camille. “You need to be able to stand on your own for those salsa lessons I’m going to buy for you.”

“I am most certainly not going to salsa, Camille. Honestly, why do you…” and they argued good-naturedly while they waited for the ferry. 

Richard was allowed to board first, and they found seats near a window. He smiled as he watched the sunlight glint on the water. 

“This feels weird. It was five degrees when I left London, and now it must be at least 30. I remember the day I arrived on Saint Marie. I asked Lily if it was always this hot and she said, ‘Oh no, sir. Sometimes it’s hotter.’ And she was right.”

“At least now you have appropriate clothing.”

“Ha! So you _have_ been emailing with Mum.”

“She wasn’t sure what to buy, so I made suggestions. And the clinic supplied a list of things you would need. So you should be all set.”

“It’s like being sent off to school. At least she didn’t sew my name into my clothes.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe we should check your underpants.”

“Never mind my—” Richard stopped as Carlton reached their table with bottles of water. “Thanks, Carlton. Thank you both for arranging my transport. I’m sorry if I wasn’t gracious earlier. It’s just that I’m used to taking care of myself.”

“And you will again,” said Carlton. “But for now try to think of it as accepting our hospitality, not needing to be taken care of.”

When they arrived at Honoré, Camille pushed Richard to the dock while Carlton managed his cases. A car from Jacaranda was waiting for them. Carlton put the cases in the boot and waved as he got in the car and drove off. 

“Wait!” said Richard. “How are we getting there?”

“You aren’t due at the clinic right away. We’re having lunch in town,” said Camille. She pushed Richard toward the street. 

Then a familiar voice said, “Hey now, Camille, you shouldn’t have to do that. Let me. Welcome to Saint Marie!” And a grinning Dwayne took charge of the wheelchair.

A block down the road, and Fidel appeared. “Hello, sir. Good flight?”

A couple of shop owners looked out their doors and called welcoming greetings as they passed.

When they arrived at La Kaz, Catherine ran out to greet Richard. She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Richard! Welcome. It’s good to see you!”

Inside, she had hung a sign that said “WELCOME RICHARD!” and decorated the bar with balloons. Catherine still wasn’t convinced that this was the best thing for her daughter, but Camille had been happy lately, and Catherine was willing to hold her tongue, at least for a while.

Richard was touched by the welcome. Juliet and Rosie were there, and Aimee was sitting nearby, on Selwyn Patterson’s knee. All of his tropical friends were there. His colleagues from the station had visited him at the Barnes to wish him a good trip. That had been pleasant. But this was so much more. It felt almost like a family reunion.

Aimee hopped off Patterson’s knee and ran over to Richard. Camille said, “Aimee, you remember Richard, don’t you?”

“Hello. Thank you for the postcards you sent me. I like the picture of the Queen. She looks like a very nice lady. Did she visit you when you were in hospital?” She paused for breath, and before Richard could think of an explanation of why Her Majesty did not have time to visit him, Aimee moved to a new subject. 

“Does your leg hurt?”

“Sometimes. But seeing you makes it hurt less. You’re very good medicine,” he answered. _And so is your maman,_ he thought.

“Welcome back, Inspector.” said Patterson, shaking Richard’s hand.

“Thank you, sir. Congratulations on your retirement. It seems to agree with you.”

“Indeed, it does. It’s amazing all the things you find time to do. I’ve joined a chess club. You should come for a game night. I think you could probably beat most of us.”

“I’m a little rusty.”

“We’ll get you tuned up in no time.”

-o-o-o-o-

After lunch, Camille drove Richard to Jacaranda. An aide helped him into the wheelchair. Camille leaned down and whispered “Bonne chance!” and then he was on his way to his room.

The aide showed Richard where everything was. His clothing was all unpacked. The books he’d brought were on the desk. One of Aimee’s pictures was taped to the wall above the desk. A gift bag with balloons tied to the handle and “welcome” streamers spilling out of it sat on the desk. When the aide left, Richard looked inside the bag. A tin of his favorite teabags, a tin of jelly babies, a package of shortbread fingers, and something wrapped in tissue paper.

He unwrapped the gift, and saw that it was a very bright, very brief Speedo. 

“Well, I am NOT wearing that!” he said. As he said this, a small note fell out. It said, _Oh, yes, you WILL wear this!_ Even without the leering smiley face and her initials, he knew who’d written the note.


End file.
